Dahlia
by Sapphira603
Summary: The daughter of a famed rancher escapes from her nightmarish life. Under an alias, she takes a job as a stable hand at the castle, where she copes with her past and meets the charismatic Captain of the Guard. A retelling of the fairy tale "Donkeyskin."
1. In which I become Dahlia

It's too much for me to take anymore. Dad and Ingo are best friends, I get it. They trust each other with their lives. It's all wonderful.

They tell lots of stories about it. We'll all be sitting by the fire, sipping tea or cocoa, and Dad will start talking about the time where Ingo saved him from that wild stallion. Ingo will go on about when Dad saved him from the rabid wolfos. And when Dad wasn't sure that the ranch would pull through that winter, Ingo somehow managed to get the shipments of milk and eggs to Kakariko Village through all that snow. At the ranch, we live and die by how Ingo and Dad save each other.

Of course, nobody talks about how Ingo comes into my room a few nights a week, while we're all supposed to be sleeping. I still pretend to be asleep, even though he and I both know I'm aware of everything that happens. The ways that he touches me, and what he touches, are not appropriate. I know that for sure. I think that if they were appropriate, then I wouldn't be so scared of telling Dad about it. I think if they were appropriate, they could happen while I'm awake. I think if they were appropriate, I might feel okay about it.

But I can tell that it's not okay. I feel some solace in that knowledge, that what is happening is not right.

I wish that could be enough for me to share with Dad. But it's not. I think it would kill him, to know that his best friend was sneaking into my room at night and doing these things. I wish I could really put into _words_ what is happening. It's just that every time I try to think about it, I feel the nausea building up inside my esophagus. So I just sort of put it in the "bad" drawer in my mind, and leave it for examination later. Like, twenty years later, maybe thirty.

It's been six years since this whole thing started. I don't know if it was anything I did or said, of if it was because of something Dad did or said. Maybe it's because that's around the time I sprouted breasts, or something like that. I mean, I would have tried to stop them from popping out if that could have stopped this kind of thing from happening.

But it's too much now. I'm eighteen, now; at this age, people are starting their lives. Meanwhile, I'm just sitting here on the ranch, doing what I'm told to do, living in my father's house, being touched by my father's friend. It's all closing in on me. I wonder sometimes if these walls are just going to collapse on top of me, ending this existence.

And I wonder sometimes if I'd be terribly scared of that happening. Sometimes, I wonder if I'd welcome it. The other day, it finally occurred to me that if I would welcome death so long as I stay here, it might not be such a bad idea to leave.

Leaving means leaving things behind. One of the reasons why I've refused to consider leaving before is because I know I would have to leave Epona. I wish I didn't have to leave her, but raising horses and eventually breeding or selling them is one of the things we do here at Lon Lon Ranch. Taking Epona would be stealing, and I'm very well aware of that. I'd like to think she's my horse, mine to keep forever, but just because that's what I'd like doesn't mean it's true. It doesn't matter that she was the first foal I helped birth, or that I'm the only person she'll listen to without a fuss. She's Dad's horse, and if I take her with me, I'm just going to end up coming back.

I can take clothes with me, so I throw some of those into my pack. I'll wear my boots and my cloak—they're the only ones I own. I throw in my books, even though I hardly have time to read them as it is. I have very few valuables, but I do pack my mother's necklace. It's officially mine, since Dad gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday. That's not stealing. I frown. I have nothing to wear with it. I mean, I wouldn't need to wear it, so I shouldn't need anything to go with it.

Bah, I need something to go with it. But I don't own anything nice enough to wear with this necklace. Mom might have owned something, but her old clothes are in the attic. I have some time to search, I think. Dad and Ingo are waking up in about a half hour or so.

I quickly tiptoe into the hallway, and I grimace as the attic door creaks. Geez, we need to oil this thing. Well, I won't care anymore, right? I'm leaving.

The stairs groan, too, and I roll my eyes at the noise. The armoire with Mom's old clothes protests, too. Maybe this whole attic is trying to keep me from leaving. Damn everything.

The closet smells like mothballs, and I have to hold my nose to keep from sneezing. I hope that her clothes have survived these long ten years. I sigh; they're mostly work dresses. A couple have holes in them, or dirt and grass stains, and I hold back tears—they're still the same as when she was alive. Ugh, no, I can't think about this.

Finally, I find some of her fancier dresses, the ones without patches of mismatched calico, the ones without the old stains from cucco feces. These dresses of jewel tones, of satin, chiffon, taffeta, and lamé, they're from better times here on the ranch. Those times were over soon after I was born, although we kept hoping things would pick up. Hope ended with Mom's death.

I hear noises from downstairs, the second floor, and I realize that I need to hurry up. I quickly pull three dresses from the armoire, figuring that at least one will match the necklace and hopefully fit, and I shove them unceremoniously into my pack.

I creep back downstairs, and I panic as I realize that Dad is awake and getting dressed. I can hear him even with his door closed. Crap, crap, crap. I quickly shut the door and run downstairs as silently as possible. I need to get out now. I don't have time to go back for anything else, but that's fine. I can't get caught. That's not an option.

Dad usually lets me get up and dressed on my own time. Breakfast isn't an issue; we cook it in advance so we can grab it and eat is as we walk outside to start the day. I have to leave my breakfast untouched, so Dad thinks I'm still asleep or upstairs. He and Ingo won't realize I'm gone for at least a good thirty minutes, possibly until lunch if they're really busy.

I mentally click off the hours as I head towards the city. One hour—Dad is probably milking the cows. He probably thinks I'm weeding the garden. Two hours—Ingo is probably attempting to collect cucco eggs from some grumpy hens. He probably thinks I'm still in the barn with Dad.

Three hours, and I'm within the city walls, looking around for "Help Wanted" signs. Dad has probably figured out that I'm gone. I didn't leave a note, but since my boots, cloak, and pack are gone, it should be obvious that I didn't magically or unwillingly disappear. But I also feel a little guilty—I didn't think to leave a note. I hope it doesn't pose a problem.

Four hours. I've already spent ten of my rupees on a sandwich for lunch, and none of the "Help Wanted" signs have led to jobs I could do. I can't be a seamstress, or a cook. I can only sew and cook well enough to get by on the ranch. I sigh heavily. Will I have to go home? I shudder at the thought, and I continue to move through the marketplace.

I'm about to give up and return to the ranch when I spot a flyer pinned up on the doorpost of a bar. Upon closer inspection, it's a sort of "Help Wanted" ad. To my great pleasure, there are openings for stable hands up at the castle. This is something that I could definitely do. Sure, it might be easy for Dad to find me, but I'll just have to hope and pray as much as I can.

The road to the castle is a long one, and with each step I take closer to the massive building, the more I start to doubt myself. What if this is a men-only position? Will they take runaways? Do I legally qualify as a runaway if I'm over eighteen? Can Dad take me home if he finds me here? What if I'm not good at whatever they ask me to do? Will they give me somewhere to stay? The ad didn't say if room and board were provided. It did say the position pays up to 300 rupees a week. What are the chances that I'll get that much? Dear Farore, give me the courage to keep walking. Otherwise I might turn and flee.

"State your business," says a soldier at the gate, and it's only now that I realize I'm standing at the drawbridge to the castle. Yeesh, I was _so_ not paying attention.

"Uh, seeking employment," I say, hoping I sound confident. At least my voice doesn't crack. I think it's even more embarrassing for women than for men.

It works; he nods and lets me pass. Geez, I think I actually broke into a cold sweat. That's just gross. Ugh, _I'm_gross.

I should have asked him where to go to ask for employment. But I'm not bright like that, so I just keep wandering until I get to the entrance of the castle. More soldiers stand there.

"State your business," another one asks.

"I'm seeking employment," I say again, but this time I remember to ask, "Where do I go for that?"

"What kind of employment?" he inquires.

"Stable hand," I reply, and to my great relief, he nods. Apparently, they do hire female stable hands.

"You want to head that way," he tells me, pointing to the left. "You'll find yourself in the Royal stables after a few minutes. Just ask for the stable head."

"Thanks," I blurt before heading in that direction. I'm _so_ awkward, it hurts.

I find the stables quite easily. They're huge. Enormous. Expansive. I could fit the whole ranch in here, I think. Well, that's probably an exaggeration, but it is big. The wood is polished, not full of holes and easily splintered. There isn't a stray straw of hay to be seen, or even a suggestion that a horse crapped near here. Everything is confined to the stalls themselves, it appears, and the carts that are pulled around. They're heading out the back of the stable, and I don't know their destination.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the head of the stables," I say to the first person I see. He looks as if he works here, since he is leading a horse.

"You mean Donald?" he asks. "He's in the office, right over there," he answers, pointing off down the corridor of the stable. Before I can double-check with him that I'm going to head in the right direction, he's back on the move, and the horse clip-clops behind him.

I make my way down the corridor and I find that the set-up is pretty straight-forward. The entire building is one long rectangle, with a wide corridor running long-ways. In the center, there's a perpendicular corridor going into the castle itself. On one side of the building, stretching from end to end, are individual stalls, with rooms full of tack on either end. On the other side, for the first half of the stable, are more stalls, but the other half seems to contain rooms and offices for people, including one large room that seems to be completely stocked with bags and bags of oats. Another door opens, and a young man is pushing an empty cart out and into the corridor—it seems that this room contains carts, as well as some equipment to clean them. At the very end, I can see another young man pushing a cart into some room and pushing it out full of straw. Beyond the stable, I can see open pastures, with picturesque white fences.

Of course, while staring at the green fields, I bump into yet another young man pushing a cart of dirty hay. Fortunately, the cart doesn't tip over, but now there's smelly straw all over the floor. And me. Oh, Goddesses.

"I'm so sorry," I repeat, over and over. "Oh, geez, I'm so sorry!" I stupidly try to pile the straws and feces into my hands and back into the cart.

"It's fine," he sighs, and I see that he's wearing gloves. That's smart of him. His hands won't stink so terribly now, as mine will. I didn't think to bring my gloves, since they're technically Dad's, and I was being so careful about not stealing. That wasn't so intelligent of me.

"I'm really sorry," I say one last time, and I wipe my hands on my work dress. Another young man is coming by with a broom and a mop, and I blush with shame. I haven't even spoken to the head of the stables yet, and I'm already causing trouble.

I spot a door with a name-card reading "Donald" on it, and I knock as calmly as I can. "Oy, come in!" calls a rough voice.

I push the door open to reveal a very messy looking office, complete with a middle-aged man behind a desk. "Can I help you, young lady?" he asks, annoyed.

"I'm sorry," I say. I must have apologized a million times already today. "I was told that you were looking for stable hands. I'm looking for work."

He sighs. "Well, come in then," he replies gruffly, and I quickly shut the door behind me. I can hear the blood pumping through my ears.

"Well, what's your name, girl?" he asks. His graying hair is mostly covered by his hat, which he struggles to keep in place on his head. I suspect he's going bald. "What kind of experience do y'have?"

"My name is Dahlia," I lie; if I tell him that I'm Malon, he'll know exactly who I am. I would like to at least maintain some sort of anonymity. "I worked in a stable in Kakariko for a while. I know how to help mares give birth, and I know how to raise a foal. I know how to raise horses, take care of horses, train horses, and breed horses."

He nods. "Well, Dahlia, I'm in sore need of help, since a bunch of my stable hands decided to up and join the ranks of those obnoxious soldiers." He sighs. "It's that new Captain," he spits. "Everyone wants to be like him, and I'm down to only five hands right now. Anyway, I'll send word to the castle to get a bed ready for you." He stands up and starts pulling some paperwork off a shelf. "You'll be sleeping and taking your meals in the castle with the rest of us," he says, searching for a pen. "I'm sorry to say that you're the only lady, and you'll be rooming with the five young men you may have bumped into out there. If they do anything funny, just kick 'em or something, and they should stop." He finally locates a pen, but it doesn't work, and his search continues. "I can tell that your dress has seen the stables, but here, it's better to work in tunics and britches. I don't have any that are outfitted for a lady, but we'll find you some getup that fits all right." I spot a pen and quickly hand it to him. He begins filling out the form without even glancing at me.

"I'll be checking out this place in Kakariko," he says, and then I realize that my plan might totally fall through. Crap! I don't even _know _of any stables in Kakariko, at least not by name. "Of course," he continues, looking up at me, "that won't be right away, and if you can prove to me that you're worth keeping, I might turn a blind eye to some inconsistent information, if y'know what I mean."

"Completely," I reply dryly, feeling a little safer.

The tour of the stables isn't as nerve-wracking as I'd feared. Donald shows me how the whole system works: there will be a clipboard in a cubby with my name on it, and I have to check off everything on it as I go. Certain things need to be done before lunch, and others need to be done before dinner. Fortunately, there's not much to do before bed.

"If there's a red sticker on the top, it means it's your turn for night duty," he explains. "That means you're going to have to stay up in case we have any late night visitors. If you're on duty, you'll have chores to keep you occupied and awake during the night. If someone does come in, and you can't handle it yourself, feel free to ring the bell over here." He points. "That'll wake me up, and I'll come down and help you. It's part of my job, so I'd rather you ring for me than attempt something that you can't do alone. I won't be mad, especially since you're new. The next morning, you'll join us for breakfast, and you'll be able to rest until lunch. After that, your day continues as normal. Your shift will occur every six days or so, barring any unusual activity."

He explains the locations of everything I'll need to take care of the horses, whose stalls are all very clearly labeled. "I tend to assign people the same horses, so you won't have to learn where everyone is right away. I will switch you around every so often, though, and by the end of the first month, I do expect you to know where everyone is."

He then explains the only system I'm worried about. "Now," he continues, "you'll notice that the floors of the stable are rather flawlessly clean." I nod and blush as I realize the site of my earlier accident is now clear. "Our policy here is that everyone is responsible if there's a mess left behind. I'm not going to freak out if you spill some hay or muck, but if it's not cleaned up within ten to twenty minutes, depending on how generous I feel or what you're in the middle of, all the stable hands lose lunch, as well as ten minutes of sleep. All the cleaning supplies are available to you in all of the rooms and closets except the stalls themselves. If someone else makes a mess, you're better off helping him. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir," I reply, gulping slightly. I'm unused to having to avoid messes like these.

"Donald, not sir," he says gruffly, and his hat nearly falls off. Yep, he's definitely balding.

Once my tour is over, he takes me to the stable hands' quarters. There are five messy beds, and five bureaus with random drawers halfway open. A trunk sits at the end of each bed, some of which have clothing sticking out. At the end of the room, there's a six cot waiting for me, with a small bureau beside it and a trunk at the end. There is a small pile of folded sheets and blankets at the foot of the bed, and a bare pillow at the head. A new candle in a holder sits on the dresser, with a starter next to it. "Here's the room," Donald says, trying to sound cheery. "Our dining room is right across the hall, so you'll just get dressed and go there after the bell rings in the morning. There's a clock in there, and I need you all out in the stable by seven at the latest to get started. If you want to get started on making your bed right now, I'll go hand in this paperwork and get you some work clothes."

"Thank you, Donald," I say awkwardly, and as he leaves, I feel very lost.

Oh, I'm not actually _lost_. I have a good sense of direction, and I can easily find my way back to the stable. I just finally feel as if I'm on my own, just like I wanted, but now I want to go home. Maybe I'm not ready for this new job, new life. Maybe I should have just stayed at home.

I can already make some predictions. Tonight, the male stable hands will all snicker as they watch me change. Tomorrow, I will leave several trails of hay and dirty straw behind while I work, which I will struggle to clean up. The other stable hands will have to help me to avoid losing lunch. I'm going to be ostracized, not only because I'm a girl, and not only because I'm unused to keeping single straws of hay from falling to the ground, but also because I know that all of the horses will listen to me. The other stable hands will watch with jealousy. I will astonish them, and I will stun them.

But as I make my bed, I know that I would rather have these five young men (boys, really) despise me than go back to my own bed in my own house, only to feel Ingo's fingertips running across my skin and down—

—I finish making my bed, and I quickly unpack my things before Donald returns with several sets of work clothes. It's obvious that only men are expected to work here. Otherwise, there would be a closet for me to hang up my dresses. Instead, I press the beautiful fabrics of my mother's dresses down before pushing the small drawers back into place.

* * *

Within twenty-four hours of my friend telling me that he would like to see a story with Ingo as a positive character, I've gone ahead and made him negative again. This time, though, I'm not planning on delving too deeply into his motivations, or even his personality. 

Aarne-Thompson refers to the Aarne-Thompson classification system of fairy tales. Cinderella is Aarne-Thompson type 510A, with the heroine persecuted by a female figure. Aarne-Thompson type 510B refers to similar stories with the heroine persecuted by a male figure. "Donkeyskin" by Perrault and _Deerskin_ by Robin McKinley fall under this category, and I have to say, I only prefer it to 510A because the heroine escapes immediately in 510B. I can't write a realistic reason for the heroine to put up with the stepmother's crap in 510A, so I haven't managed to write a Cinderella story yet.

Anyway, I hope that Ingo's behavior won't prevent reading and reviewing. It's not as central to the plot as it was in _Just a Farm Girl, _so I'm not going to fixate on it as much. Huzzah.


	2. In which I make a good impression

At first, I wonder if I've made a mistake coming here. From the start, I'm problematic for the stable team, and the guys don't keep that a secret.

The clothes that I'm given to wear are men's clothes. They don't fit me very well, and I can tell that I don't project the professional stable hand image that I'm supposed to. The first night I was here, I wore my nightgown to bed, but after the reaction from the five other stable hands (raised eyebrows and smirks), I started wearing the castle-issued linen shirt and pants. I don't want to pretend that I'm special or different.

There is only one bedroom and one bathroom for the stable hands. I change my clothes in one of the two toilet stalls in the bathroom. Unfortunately, there are no such stalls for showers. Therefore, I have to rely on my body's internal clock to wake me up before the bell rings at six-fifteen in the morning. I'm so used to waking up around five-thirty that I'm always up before the bell. It means that the boys are all still asleep while I take a quick shower. I can't risk taking a long one, just in case one of them wakes up early and decides it would be fun to see me naked.

I work as quietly as possible during the day. The guys resent me, since I seem to be better at their job than they are. Well, it is true. I've found, throughout my life that I seem to be able to communicate with horses. No, I can't actually _talk_ to them or anything like that. But I certainly talk to them, and I sometimes get different feelings when they look at me. It's as if they're communicating with me through facial expression, but in many cases, their expressions are the same for different things. Either way, I just go with it. Through this strange method of communication, I've been able to lead many a horse to water and make him drink.

And so I don't have the same issues that the other stable hands do. My horses don't escape their leads. They don't kick or bite. They stand still when I'm trying to wash them, or brush them, or take tack on or off. They don't freak out when passing another horse in the stable hallway. And they aren't nearly as messy in their own stalls, making clean-up far easier for me.

Of course, I can't seem to keep the hallway as clean as I need to. I haven't cost us lunch, but that's only because at least one of the guys will help me if I'm getting close to the time limit. I've never even had to comprehend the concept of a flawlessly clean stable, since at home, it never mattered before. But here, we have guests frequently, and so we have to make sure the whole place is spic and span. I can't figure out just how to handle it either. No matter how hard I dry, I still manage to leave a trail of straw showing where I've been. And while I can make sure that my horses don't track in dirt, I still leave boot prints behind. How that works, I have no idea.

At least Donald hasn't mentioned anything about that stable in Kakariko. I think that he's satisfied enough with my work that he's not going to bother. I'm still nervous about what might happen if he finds out that I lied. I keep replaying worst case scenarios in my mind, and they range from prison to Ingo's cold hands. And every time I see Donald, I brace myself for the possible bad news. So far, he's said nothing about it.

As I finish sweeping up the straw I dropped, I hear a small commotion near Donald's office. "Come on, Donald, let me give it a try!"

It's Richard, one of the other stable hands. He has a bit of an ego problem, which annoys the snot out of me. I walk past the office to put my broom away, and the conversation continues.

"Richard, you have no experience in training horses, and this colt hasn't even been trained to wear a saddle yet!" I hear Donald shuffling around some papers. "If you hurt yourself or the horse, I'll be in serious manure. I told you, just bring him to the ranch tomorrow."

"Donald, really, I'm not going to screw up!" Richard whines. "If I can't make progress today, I promise that I'll take him to Lon Lon."

"Fine," Donald snaps. "But I'll have your neck if you screw up. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I get it, old man! Yeesh!" And he stomps out of the office. "What are you looking at?" he asks, sneering at me.

As soon as Donald leaves to file some paperwork elsewhere in the castle, the other four guys are outside, watching as Richard tries his hand at breaking a colt. Meanwhile, I'm the only one actually working. I think I value this job more than they do. Maybe they could go home if the were fired. Maybe they could find another job, or just join the ranks of guards here at the castle. Of course they could—that's why Donald needed more stable hands in the first place anyway.

What a bunch of stupid boys.

After ten minutes or so, I can hear laughing and joking coming from the corrals outside, and I'm still the only one working. You know, this is hardly fair. I bet that I'm going to get in trouble because they're not working. I hate that. I mean, if I go try to get them to get back to work, they'll ignore me, maybe ridicule me. So no matter what I do, they're not going to work. And then, I'll just get reprimanded for not making them get back to work, for_letting _them slack off. Why is it that one woman is automatically responsible for five men, even when they she has no authority over them?

Twenty minutes have passed. How many more minutes will tick by before Donald comes back? I wish I just had the guts to tattle, but I can just tell that it's going to cause me even more trouble. I'm trying to work on earning respect, for Din's sake! Why is it this hard?

Thirty minutes. The guys are still shouting outside. I make my way to the supply closet nearest to the corrals so I can see and hear what's going on a little better. From the look of things, all Richard has managed to do is get himself and a beautiful saddle covered in dirt. The colt looks a bit wild-eyed and scared. Oh, for crying out loud, he's going to end up hurting the poor horse. I've got to put a stop to this.

I step outside and head for the corral. "Oy!" I call out to them. "If you're not going to work, you could at least slack off without scaring the damn horse!"

Garret has been on the look-out, it seems. "Look, guys, it's Mother," he says with a laugh.

"Hey, Ma, why don't you go back in the house?" asks Derrick.

See, I knew this would happen. But maybe I'm possessed today, since I keep on walking.

"Look, Dahlia, this isn't any of your business, so just beat it," says Thomas.

I keep walking down to them, and finally, I reach the gate to the corral.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing, Dahlia?" asks Victor.

"I'm ending this crap," I snap before entering the corral.

I ignore their shouts as I walk over to Richard, who's covered in dust and Goddesses know what else. "What do you want?" he asks, annoyed and exasperated. I can tell that his inability to even get a saddle on this colt is really puncturing his ego.

"Just get out of the way, you idiot," I respond, and I take the dirty saddle out of his hands. He tries to take it back from me, but I just elbow him in the stomach. "Seriously," I add. He puts up his hands defensively, perhaps considering what other body parts I could elbow.

I approach the colt and put the training saddle behind my back. "Hey there, fella," I say softly as I step beside him. "It's all right. I'm not as mean or stupid as that other guy."

The colt looks at me as if he's appraising me. He sniffs me a bit before snorting. He seems to be indicating that he finds me acceptable. I carefully reach up with a free hand and stroke his neck. "Hey, so I'm just going to put something on your back, okay?" I ask. "It's not going to hurt at all, and if you stand still, it won't even be uncomfortable."

When he doesn't move, I feel as if it's a yes. I carefully pull out the training saddle and hold it beneath his nose. "See? This is what I'm going to put on your back. It's not anything to worry about, and not anything that could hurt you."

He sniffs the saddle, and I turn it over so he can get a good whiff of all the angles. He sneezes, and I apologize for the dust. Finally, he appears to nod his head, and I carefully move to his side and slowly set the saddle on his back.

After a minute or so, I've buckled it on properly. As I go, I make sure to tell him every little thing I'm doing, so he doesn't freak out on me. Finally, after a couple rounds around the corral, I ask if it's okay if I get on, and he seems to say okay.

Donald, of course, comes down while the guys are watching me atop the colt, walking him around the corral. "What the hell is going on here?" he bellows. I can't just leap off the horse and scramble over to him, since I don't want to scare the colt, but the boys are suddenly nervous and cowering before the boss.

I can't hear the conversation as I slowly stop the horse and dismount. "Good job today," I tell him. "Thanks for letting me help you with this whole riding thing. Maybe I'll get to help you again another time." I take hold of his lead and start to bring him back up to the stables.

The boys have already gone back inside, but Donald is waiting for me. "Well, Dahlia, I thought you were exaggerating when you said you could train horses. I guess I was wrong."

"That's all right," I say. "What's this horse's name? I need to get him back to his stall."

"Blaze," Donald replies, "and he lives down on the left, in Victor's territory." He walks with me as I start to lead Blaze. "Geez, he and his saddle are dirty! What did you do?"

I roll my eyes. "I didn't do anything," I reply. But then I remember that I don't want to tattle. "But don't worry, I'll polish the saddle while I'm on the night shift tonight."

He frowns. "Richard had rotten luck, didn't he?" It's obvious that he knows who's really responsible for the saddle.

"I trained Blaze, so I'll clean his tack," I say firmly. "It's fine, Donald. Don't push it."

That afternoon, as I wheel out a cart full of very smelly hay, I leave my usual trail. As I pass Garret, who's just exiting a stall, he stops me. "Here, hold your arms like this instead," he says, and he repositions my elbows.

I don't drop any more straw after that, and when I wheel the cart back to the cart room, I notice that the trail I left before is already cleaned up.

That evening, after a relatively quiet dinner, I head back to the stable and check my clipboard. I'm on the night shift tonight, and so I have a laundry list of tasks, some of which I have to do at specific hours to keep myself awake. Being on the night shift guarantees you post-dinner chores, although a couple other stable hands usually have a chore or two to complete before bed as well. But it's going to be a lonely night, as usual. This is my fifth night shift.

The clock ticks much too slowly as I finish yet another boring chore designed to keep me busy. As I pull out Blaze's training saddle, which I need to clean and polish, I see Richard standing in the doorway to the castle, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Can I help you?" I ask, annoyed. It's been a long day, and I'm in no mood to endure more heckling.

"I just wanted to say thanks," he says gruffly. "You didn't have to take the rap like that."

I shrug. "Whatever," I reply eloquently. "It doesn't really matter."

He nods, but as he walks back into the castle, I can tell that things have changed.

Finally, after another long-as-hell night, I hear the bell ring for wake up. I stumble into the castle, and by the time the boys are up and dressed, I'm almost asleep at the table. In fact, I can barely understand the small conversation that's taking place, and after I gulp down my eggs and toast, I wobble over to the bathroom to shower. When I'm clean and relatively dry, there are spots in my vision, and I'm not even sure if the bed I fall into is my own.

The bell rings for lunch, and I slowly come to. The first thing I notice is that my head feels very sticky—it's a side-effect of sleeping with wet hair. I feel heavy and slow, but I always do after a night shift. I straighten out my clothes as best I can. Of course, they'll never sit on my body correctly. They're comfortable, though, and they don't get in the way. Besides, if I want to get better fitting clothes, I'll have to pay for them myself. Right now, I'm just trying to save up as best I can. I'm not exactly getting three hundred rupees a week, although I'm not surprised. Victor's the only one getting that much, and he's been here for two years.

I slowly make my way across the hall to the small dining room. Lunch is already on the table, and the boys are filing in. My vision is much less blurry now than it was this morning, and I can finally focus on conversation. Ugh, I do very much hate the night shift.

"So, uh, how was the night shift, Dahlia?" asks Thomas.

No one ever talks to me unless they're trying to prank me. But I can tell that he means his question honestly. Did I really make such an impression on everyone yesterday? Or perhaps Richard really carries that much weight around here.

"Uneventful," I say. "Anything new this morning?"

To my surprise, the guys nod. "New horse," Garret says. "The Captain asked for one, and today, we got one from Lon Lon Ranch."

If I were a dog, my ears would have perked up. "Oh?" I ask, trying to hide my interest. I wonder which horse we got. Bric-a-Brac is a little too old for the Captain, and Prancer is, well, a little over-eager, and she'd probably ignore a rider's commands so she could trot around and show off.

"Yeah, and she's all yours," says Derrick. "She won't listen to any of us, even Donald. He figures you can maybe give her a try. If you can't handle her, she's going back to the ranch."

I nod. I'm sure I'll be fine, unless this horse is a recent purchase of Dad's. I can't think of any horse I can't handle on that ranch. But if I can't handle this mare, then the Captain of the Guard sure can't.

We finish up lunch rather quietly before heading out to the stable. I grab my clipboard, and I'm greeted with the usual chores. I've got to muck out stalls, feed horses, clean tack, and so on. But I stop short when I read one of the names on my list.

"Epona?" I ask.

"Yeah," replies Garret, who's just grabbing his clipboard. "That's the new gal. Good luck with her; she's quite a chore."

"Right," I reply thoughtfully.

Well, this is interesting. I'm surprised that Donald picked Epona, since she barely even listens to Dad. Maybe after I left, she grew too difficult even for him, and maybe that's why he wasn't too loathe to part with her. I was always the only one she'd listen to without fail.

And now she's here. I try to regain my breath and composure as I head down to my territory. When I reach the stall with her name plaque on it, I peer in to see a familiar face. "Hey, girl," I say to her.

Just as I expected, she freaks out a little bit. I have to quickly get into the stall and calm her down. "Whoa, girl," I say softly, and I quickly get her to calm a little. "Hey, sweetie, you need to relax, okay?"

When I finally get her quiet, I explain to her what is going on, that I'm keeping my identity a secret, and that I need her to play along a little bit. As I get her set up a little better, and I as continue with the rest of my chores, I feel a little jittery, but also a little relieved. I'm afraid that with Epona here, my cover might be blown. I don't know how, but I still worry that somehow, it's going to happen.

But at the same time, I feel so excited. Not only have I finally been accepted by the other stable hands, something that I was afraid would never happen, but my best friend is now here with me. Granted, she's a horse, but having her here with me is comforting. And it's a reminder of the fact that when bad things were happening to me, I didn't just take it quietly. I left and became independent. Epona, I suppose, is a reward for that.

Either way, there's a new spring in my step today. I'm practically bouncing, as if there are springs on the soles of my boots. Let the boys think that I'm excited that they respect me. Let them think it's because of them, and not because of this stately, practically wild mare. This new life is finally starting to look up.

* * *

Here's a chapter for everyone, since I'm going back to school today. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write, since I'm taking four classes and doing research in inflammation. I also probably will be either taking flute lessons or playing in the orchestra (fingers crossed for orchestra because lessons mean spending $600 and working with a flute teacher I don't get along with), which would put me at my maximum credit load. Fun, huh? It's going to be awesome.

This story will probably be much shorter than _Just a Farm Girl, _and certainly shorter than _A Push in the Right Direction._ There's just less to say in this story than in the other two. But I have a good feeling about this one. It's bound to be a party and a half.


	3. In which I really need a shower

"Whoa, Dahlia, watch out!"

I turn around in time to see Vixen rushing at me. Victor's warning doesn't give me any time to get out of the way gracefully, and I throw myself to the side. Seconds later, it's clear that the danger has passed. I look up to see Thomas leap over the corral fence and grab Vixen's lead. Harrison, the horse I was leading, looks down at me with a slightly bemused expression. "Keep laughing," I grunt to him as I push myself up.

Victor is by my side, helping me to my feet. "Sorry, I'm so sorry," he mumbles to me. "I don't know what's wrong with her."

"It's fine," I tell him, placing my hand on his shoulder. It was meant to be a reassuring gesture, but when I pull my hand away, there's a muddy hand print on his shirt. "Oh, shit," I say. I look down and realize that I'm very muddy. And it's smelly mud.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll brush it off when it dries. But I'm glad you're okay. It was stupid of me to take Vixen out this late, and with other people in the corral."

"Please, it's fine." I have to stop myself from giving him another reassuring pat. "Anyway, I need to get Harrison back in."

As I lead Harrison out of the corral and back up to the stables, the stench of the mud becomes more discernable. Ugh, and I can't take a shower until tomorrow morning! Today, naturally, was the first day since I arrived that I ever slept until the bell, and so I didn't manage to take a shower this morning. I smelled terrible already, and now I'm going to smell all night. I hate the night shift. I'll have Epona to keep me company now, though, which is nice. I haven't been able to just sit and spend time with her since she got here last week.

Garret is pushing a cart of fresh hay down the hall, and we easily catch up with him. "Where are you headed?" I ask.

"Blaze's stall," he replies. "Who do you have there? Harrison?"

"Yep."

"That's weird. Harrison doesn't normally smell that bad."

I roll my eyes. "I smell, idiot. Vixen almost trampled me a few moments ago, and I'm covered in corral mud."

He winces. "That's the worst kind of mud. Oh man, and you're on the night shift."

"You've got that right," I sigh. I lead Harrison into his stall as Garret heads into Blaze's stall, across the hallway. "I hope we don't get any guests tonight. I won't make the best impression."

He laughs. "True. You do reek. I don't mean to hurt your feelings or anything, but yeah. You smell awful."

I take off Harrison's lead and hang it up before shutting the door. I tell Garret that I'll be right back before hurrying to a closet to grab a broom. I've tracked in some mud, unfortunately, and I need to clean up the trail. First, I wipe off my shoes, of course. Within a minute or so, I'm finished, and as I'm putting the broom away, Garret is putting back his cart.

"So, Vixen almost trampled you?" he asks.

"Yeah. What on earth is wrong with her?"

"We're not totally sure," Garret admits. "Victor says that she just sort of freaked out a few weeks ago, soon after the Captain got back from some exploit or something."

"Captain?" I ask. "She's the Captain's horse?"

He hands me my clipboard before grabbing his own. "Yeah, or at least she was. She's the third horse in a row he's had, actually. After he's had them for a month or so, he'll take them out for a few days or a week, and they come back crazy."  
"I've never seen a horse that skittish before, or that easily spooked," I admit. I glance down at the last chores I have before dinner. I roll my eyes—just more stalls to clean. Now I get to smell worse.

"Have you tried talking to her?" Garret asks cautiously.

What? I search his face. He seems to be apprehensive about his question. Crap, has he noticed me talking to the horses?

"What do you mean?" I ask, proud of myself for not stammering.

He looks away. "Well, sometimes when you talk to some of the horses, they behave better. Like when you tamed that colt last week. Richard's pretty good with horses, but you managed to handle one he couldn't."

"I don't know what you mean," I say stupidly. "Anyway, I need to get back to work, and so do you."

I walk away from him, trying to act casual. Why does it bother me so much if he knows about my crazy horse-talk? Am I afraid of him telling the other guys, or Donald? But why would that be such a horrible thing?

But embarrassment at nearly being discovered is overruled by the new fear that Epona will go down the same route as Vixen. Over dinner, Victor confirms Garret's information: that all of the Captain's horses have eventually gone a little crazy, and they've had to sell off the horses to Kakariko. Donald comes in, and when he figures out the topic of conversation, he confirms that he's been working something out with the Kakariko stables, and that Vixen should be heading there in a couple of days.

I wouldn't be able to bear it if Epona wound up with the same fate as Vixen, and the horses before her. It's not that I couldn't handle being separated from Epona again. It's that I remember meeting Vixen when I first arrived, about a month and a half ago. She seemed perfectly normal, even a bit like Epona. Now, she's completely changed.

Garret's comment about me talking to Vixen didn't just bother me because he might tell people that I'm a freak. It's that I _have _tried to talk to Vixen. I've tried to calm her down, talk to her, figure out what's upsetting her. For the first time in my life, there was no communication. Whatever she had been through had destroyed the connection between her and me. Never before had I talked to a horse and had the horse respond … like an animal.

I'm scared. I don't want Epona to go mad. I don't want to lose her. She's never been just an animal to me, and if this Captain ruins her, like he has several other horses already, he's going to get a piece of my mind.

After the plates are cleared, we get back to work. I grab the night shift chore list, and I'm happy to see that the chores are lighter tonight than they usually are. I head outside and try to brush dried mud off my clothing while the guys finish up their work for the day. By the time I've given up on the mud, I'm the lone human in the stables.

The hours on the clock slowly tick by. I don't follow Donald's night shift protocol, although no one else does either, and Donald hasn't got a clue. He gives us chores to do throughout the night so that we're always awake, but all of us get them done really quickly and stay awake by other means. I know that Derrick's girlfriend visits on his night shifts, and they have sex in one of the supply rooms. Of course, they do quickies so that he's only gone for a minute or so at a time. He knows he'd be in huge trouble if someone showed up in the middle of the night, and he was getting busy.

Thomas and Richard have a pact for the night shift. When one of them is on the night shift, the other one will wake up in the middle of the night so they can play cards for a while. Currently, Thomas is on a hot streak. Richard and his giant ego owe his friend about 400 rupees at this point.

Victor is actually quite a talented artist, and he spends his night shifts sketching the horses, or sometimes doodling random ideas he gets in his head. The other day, he showed me some of his better drawings. He's pretty damn good—he could make a career out of his art if he wanted to.

Garret, I discovered, is as much as a bookworm as I am. Even since I gained the respect of the guys last week, he and I have been discussing some of the books we've read and liked. He has a bigger personal library than I do, and so he graciously has offered to lend me books when I finish the ones I've brought with me. Of course, I'll have to return the favor, which is fine with me. And so the two of us read when we're supposed to be doing chores, staying awake, and so on.

I hide my current book in Epona's stall, which is where I head as soon as I finish up all of my chores. "Hey, girl," I say to her wearily as I enter the stall and grab my book from behind a plank in the wall. I gently scratch her nose. "I'm a little worried about you."

She glances at me with a confused look.

"Because you're the Captain's horse," I explain. "And you've seen what happens to the Captain's horses."

Have I? she seems to ask.

"Vixen used to be the Captain's horse," I inform her. "She nearly ran me over today. That's why I smell like crap."

She tosses her head uncomfortably. She doesn't like Vixen.

"I know you don't like her. She's gone a little nuts, that's for sure. But I'm just worried that whatever happened to her will happen to you! She used to be a lot like you."

Epona sighs and eats my hair a little. I can tell that she's trying to tell me that she's not going to go crazy.

"You might," I say glumly. "I've tried to get her to tell me what's wrong, and it's like she can't talk anymore."

Epona gives me a laughing stare: We're horses. None of us can talk. Duh.

"You know what I mean," I growl. "Just promise me that if anything happens to you when you're with him, and you feel yourself starting to freak, you'll concentrate on me. Because you have to be able to come back and tell me what's happened to you."

Fine, fine, she motions as she snorts at me. She recoils: You stink.

"I know. Shut up," I reply before opening my book up to the chapter I left off with.

As I finish the chapter, I hear footsteps in the stable hallway. Oh, shit, why does there have to be someone here when I smell awful? Not only have I not showered in quite a while, and not only do I still smell from the mud, but one of my night shift chores has certainly added to my vomit-inducing scent. I'm sure I don't look so great either, but it would be even less professional of me to just hide. I quickly memorize my page, shove my book into its hiding place, and jump out of the stall.

I am face to face with a young man, perhaps a few years my senior. He's dressed in the uniform of the Guard, although he's without his uniform's hat, and he has some fancy medals and such on the front of his jacket. "Can I help you?" I ask, wishing I looked as professional as he does. I can feel the dirt on my face and the grease in my hair.

"Hi," he says, looking at me with a little confusion. "I'm just here to meet my horse."

"Okay, who's your horse?" I ask politely, trying to figure out why he looks so confused. "Sorry," I interject, "but are you okay?"

He blinks. "Yes, why do you ask?"

"You look a little puzzled, that's all," I say.

"Well—you work here?" he asks, crossing his arms, with the same confused expression on his face.

"I do, yes," I reply. "I know that my clothes are considerably dirty right now, but I am wearing stable livery." I laugh. "Well, technically the dirt is part of the uniform. These are the stables, after all."

He smiles wryly. "I just didn't know there were any female stable hands," he admits.

I frown. "I'm not sure how to respond to that," I admit. Does he mean that he doesn't think I'm fit to work the stables? Was Donald not supposed to hire me? Do I have to punch him in the crotch to teach him what happens when you're sexist?

He frowns, too, and then his face turns apologetic. "No, no, I didn't mean anything by it," he insists. "Sorry, it's just that I don't come down to the stables much, and when I do, there's usually only a guy here."

"It's fine," I say, but I'm still a little peeved. It's just one more thing added to my crappy day. "Who are you here to see?"

"Epona," he replies.

"Epona?" I ask. "The Captain's horse?"

He chuckles. "My horse? Yes."

I stare at him. "You're the Captain?" I ask, trying not to laugh.

He frowns. "Yeah, why? Is that funny?"

"You're just a kid," I say. "Epona's right here."

"Thanks," he replies. "And, please, just a kid? _You're_ just a kid."

"I'm a legal adult," I scoff as I open Epona's stall.

"Sure," he says. "Look, do you think the King would have made me Captain of the Guard if I were bad at it?"

"Do you think Donald would have hired a girl to work in the stables if she were bad at it?" I counter.

"Hey, I said I was sorry," he pointed out.

"I know," I admit. "Anyway, here's Epona." I grab his arm and pull him into the dimly lit stall, and it isn't until after he's already inside and I let go that I realize I _probably_ was out of line just touching him. He doesn't seem to react to that.

"She's beautiful," he says softly. "Hey there, Epona." He reaches up a hand to her nostrils, so she can get a good whiff of him. She looks at me: He smells way better than you do. Ugh, I hate that I can't respond while the Captain is standing here!

"She's a great mare," I tell him. "But you need to treat her with a lot of respect."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Are you still going on about me not knowing that girls worked here?"

I roll my eyes back. "Girls don't work here. _Girl_ works here. Just me," I point out. "And I'm being quite serious. Epona doesn't listen well to most people, but if you treat her almost like a person, she'll probably behave."

"Probably?" he asks. He seems a little unsure now about having Epona for his horse.

"There are no guarantees," I admit. "Sometimes she even ignores me. But seriously, she's fantastic. Just treat her with a lot of respect." I pause. "And talk to her. You know, conversations. No baby talk or anything." He glances at me skeptically. "If you think I'm kidding, then I'll be waiting for you to come find me and ask me why she's not listening to you."

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly.

"Dahlia," I reply. Every time I answer that question, I can feel Malon drifting away. And that's a good feeling. As Malon becomes more and more distant, so does the ranch, so does Ingo, and so does …

I shake my head. "So, uh, do you want more time to get to know her?" I ask, a little stupidly.

He shrugs. "Nah, I just wanted to meet her. I'll probably come by over the weekend to take her for a ride, get a good feel for her."

"Great," I say, trying to sound like I mean it. "Just come and find me, and if you can't find me, just ask around. I'll get you all set up."

He nods. "Thanks. I think my gear should be labeled or something. It should be with the Royal gear, and whatever else is in there."

"All right," I reply. I shut the stall behind us. "I guess I'll see you this weekend."

He nods. "Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Dahlia."

"Thanks," I say, suddenly very aware of the dirt that covers me from head to toe. "It was nice meeting you, too."

"Link," he says, suddenly. "My name is Link."

"All right, Link," I reply. "Have a good night."

Once he's left the stables and my sight, Epona huffs to get my attention. You forgot to ask him what he does to fuck up his horses, she points out.

"Watch your language," I warn her.

He was cute, she laughs.

"Yeah, but I'm not," I remind her. She nips at my hair and flicks her tail, letting me know she's going to try to sleep. I simply climb back into the stall and grab my book.

Epona's right, though. I should have asked the Captain why his horses all go crazy.

I laugh to myself. I shouldn't be asking him that. After all, I'm the crazy girl who talks to horses.

That's right, Epona reminds me, and then she's quiet for the rest of the night. I manage to finish my book shortly before six, and I hide it and make it look like I'm still working. At six-thirty, Donald comes out to let me know that breakfast is ready. I feel strangely awake while I sit with the guys. It's unusual—I tend to be falling asleep on my toast after a night shift.

Finally, _finally_ I slip into the bathroom and take my shower. Grime flows down the drain, nearly clogging it. I cover myself in as much soap as I can find, and I wash my hair twice. I deserve to take a long shower, I think.

As I scrub off the dirt, the mud, the polish, the stray bits of hay, I can finally feel my body under it. But as I continue to soap up, for about the third time, I'm reminded of someone else's hands traveling across my body, taking a similar root. I freeze at this memory of Ingo. For a frightening moment, Malon bubbles up to the surface, and I'm on my knees in the shower, sobbing.

By the time I've pulled myself together, the soap has followed the grime down the drain. I feel almost as dirty now, though, as I did before I stepped into the water. And even though I haven't used up the hot water, I'm terribly cold. I'm still cold, even after I've dried myself up, even after I've tried to snuggle into my bed.

I'm grateful that sleep claims me quickly.

* * *

So it's been a while. I had a tough semester (full credit load, full attendance, research), and then I moved. Right now, we're in the middle of a heat wave, and I'm without air conditioning. Oh well. I did a lot of thinking, and the story is finally starting to come together really nicely. I'm actually quite proud of the way it's going. Hit up the review function so I know what you all think.


	4. In which there is blood everywhere

I pace the hallway nervously. It's the second night shift in a row where I've done that. My book sits in the stall, unread.

As promised, the Captain showed up over the weekend to take Epona for a quick ride. She seemed to like him, although she told me later that she still prefers me. His gear was in the same closet as the Royal gear, just as he said, although it surprised me. Why would the Captain of the Guard have his tack kept with the Royal tack? How strange.

One morning, though, a few days later, the Captain showed up again. He was dressed for traveling, it seemed, and he had me saddle Epona up. He let me know he'd be back with her in a few days, and then he and Epona were gone.

It's been two weeks since they disappeared. Donald is worried about me, since now even the smallest livery is a little too big for me. "You have to eat, Dahlia," he reminds me at dinner tonight.

"I eat," I say defensively, and I demonstrate by eating half of my chicken. But after everyone else has gone to bed, I have to run to the bathroom. My stomach can't even handle that much food.

This is what I was afraid of. He's taken Epona, and either they're never coming back, or Epona's going to be catatonic or something.

What is he doing to these horses?

I have to find out.

It's almost four in the morning when I hear the soft clip-clopping of hooves. They're irregular—this horse is favoring a leg.

I almost faint as I see Epona walking through the stable door. She's limping slightly, and I see dried blood on her left foreleg. "Holy shit," I say.

She glares at me: You're supposed to watch your language, she reminds me.

"You're okay," I say with relief. I walk over to her as quickly as I can without actually running.

"Yeah, but barely," someone says. I realize that the Captain is leading Epona so he doesn't hurt her leg further.

Before I make the mistake of telling him that I wasn't talking to him, I notice that he's covered in blood. His clothing is stained with red, and his face is black and blue and very cut up. He has a much more pronounced limp than Epona does.

"Holy shit," I repeat.

"You're repeating yourself," he rasps at me.

"Hold on, okay?" I tell him quickly. "I'm going to get Epona squared away first."

"First?" he asks stupidly as I take Epona from him.

"Hold on!" I say again. "Sit on the bench over there, okay?" I hustle Epona into her stall. I pull the tack off, for the moment ignoring the high quality of the leather. Epona doesn't seem to be freaking out too much. She looks at me: It's just the leg, and it's not even that bad. The rest of me is fine.

"I'll be the judge of that," I say to her sharply. But she's right. The gash is very bloody, but also very shallow. There's a lot of blood, but only some of it is from her leg. The rest, I realize as my body goes cold, is the Captain's.

Where the crap is the gauze? I have to dash to two different closets before I manage to find some. As I run back to Epona's stall, I ring Donald's bell.

As I finish bandaging Epona's leg, Donald himself has arrived. "What's goin' on?" he asks hoarsely.

"I have to help the Captain to the hospital wing," I say as I throw a blanket over Epona and pat her absent-mindedly. "I just didn't want to leave the stables unattended while I left." I slide past him as I exit the stall. It's easy now that I've lost a good ten pounds.

"What's happened?" he asks, his voice growing stronger.

"It's fine," I call back to him. I approach the Captain quickly. He's slumping on the bench, and I feel a panic rise up in my chest. One of his eyes is bloodied shut, and his once green tunic is brown and sticky as I lift him up. He stumbles, and I realize that one of his legs is just dragging behind him as we start to move towards the hallway to the castle.

He's breathing heavily, and I feel as if we're going to sink into the floor. "Come on," I say to him quietly. "Keep walking … or trying to," I add, stupidly. After we reach the bathroom at the end of the hall, I suddenly have no idea where we're going. I roll my eyes; I should have had Donald take the Captain to the hospital wing. At least he would know where it was!

"Hey," I say quietly, "I know you're in rough shape, and I'm going to take you to the hospital wing. But you're going to have to try to look around and tell me where it is."

He nods weakly. "End of the hallway, take a left," he rasps. I follow his directions. But after the left, I see stairs. "Stairs?" I ask him, feeling a huge freak-out beginning to well up in my throat.

"Door to the right," he gasps. And then I see the door to the right. Get it together, I berate myself. I grasp wildly for the handle, and my hand is slippery with the Captain's blood. I manage to turn it, and then push the door open with my back. The Captain grunts.

A few excruciating hallways and doors later, we find ourselves in a washed out room with some beds and many, many cabinets. A middle-aged woman sits behind a desk, and by the looks of her, she seems to be exhausted from her own night shift. After a few long seconds, shock registers on her face.

"Goodness!" she cries, and she pushes herself away from her desk so quickly that her chair topples over. "Get him on the bed over here." And so we stumble over, and I hear the Captain grunt in pain as he falls onto the bed.

For the next hour or so, my mind is almost blank as the healer barks instructions at me. I sift through cabinets for gauze and tape and iodine. I cut off blood-soaked clothing and staunch bleeding wounds. I wash dirty skin and brace broken bones. And then at last, I help the healer carry the Captain from the dirty and bloody bed to a second, clean one.

"I'm going to get a message sent to the King," the healer informs me, and it feels as if the world has stopped its dizzying spin. "Stay here with him, all right?"

"Uh, all right," I call after her, but she's gone. It's just me and the Captain.

He doesn't even appear to be conscious right now. I can hear the rattling of his breath as he lies very still on the white bed. I blush suddenly as I realize that he's completely naked; while his most personal parts are covered, the blanket does not fully cover his naked hip. I quickly grab the edge of the sheet and cover the skin.

But before I can relax after that too intimate moment, the Captain hoarsely speaks. "I'm badly injured, and you're thinking about my modesty? How sweet."

I huff at him. "What even happened to you?" I feel more comfortable changing the subject.

"Job got a little out of hand," he says.

"How the hell does this happen when your job gets out of hand?" I ask angrily. I'm thinking of Epona. "You're the fucking Captain of the Guard. You're not the general of the army."

"Link, what the hell happened?" a voice demands from the doorway. I look up to see a man in his late fifties, clad in his night clothes and slippers. He looks furious, but deeply concerned. "You were supposed to be gone for a few days! What happened?"

"I'm sorry, your Majesty," Link mumbles.

Your … Majesty? Holy _shit_. It's the fucking King.

I hastily stand up and try to remember how to curtsey. I hear one of my ankles crack, and it occurs to me that this would be easier in a skirt.

"Please," he says to me, "it's really not necessary." He sighs and directs his attention back to Link. "Am I going to have to send diplomats?"

"No, no," the Captain insists weakly. "I got sidetracked, that's all. I didn't do anything illegal."

The King sighs. "All right, but this can't happen again. We can't afford to lose you."

"I understand, sir. But you don't have to worry. I've got help this time."

"Help?" The King sounds surprised, and a little unbelieving. "Link, I always trust you to keep these matters private."

"It's that horse," the Captain says, his voice insistent. What? Is Epona helping him or something? I feel as confused as the King looks. The Captain looks sheepish. "Look," he continues, "that new horse is definitely something. I'd have been killed if it hadn't been for her."

The King looks at him hard before sighing. "Well, then I'll make sure that your horse is taken care of, if she's that important," he concedes, still skeptically. I bristle; Epona _is _special—at least the Captain can see that! "I'm just glad you're all right, even though it looks as if you're going to be side-lined for quite a while." He turns to me, and I freeze in place as I stare stupidly at my ruler. "What is your name, girl?"

"Dahlia, sir," I lie shamelessly. "I work in the stables." The question had definitely been asked, although not aloud.

"She's Epona's handler," the Captain interjects. "She's why my horse is so awesome."

I don't like the way the King is looking at me. It's as he's appraising me like meat, or like a new horse being purchased. I try to hold what I can only hope is a confident-but-not-rude pose.

Finally, he speaks. "I shall see to it that you are granted a raise, Dahlia." And then he leaves, and I feel as those he expects me to have a small celebration, right here in the hospital wing.

After the King's exit, I feel like celebrating very little. Instead, it's as if all the air has been let out of me, and I feel my body relaxing slightly.

"It's all right," the Captain says, as reassuringly as he can. It _is _difficult to sound reassuring when you're bedridden, covered in gauze, and wheezing with pain. "He's just pissed at me for worrying him. He'll probably feel bad tomorrow about scaring you."

"I'm not scared," I retort, although I admit to myself that I was a bit intimidated. He just wasn't the friendly liege I had been expecting. But even if he had been, I never thought I'd ever meet the King under such odd circumstances. And I had seen him in his night clothes!

"Fine," he responds. "Thanks, though."

"For what?" It's an honest question. For Epona? For bringing him here?

"For taking care of me and staying with me." My question is answered. "I know you'd rather be seeing to Epona, so I appreciate it."

"Oh, come on, that's not true," I lie again. It is true; I would feel much more comfortable sitting with Epona in her stall.

But while I would be more comfortable there, I don't feel like bolting right now. I know that he needs my help. And while I certainly am not happy with these circumstances, I do not intend to leave any time soon. I mean, he's practically half-dead; I need to make sure he's well.

"But really, thank you," he says again. He reaches out and covers my hand with his. And ice fills my insides even as the touch is electrifying. Malon once again rears up within me, screaming in agony at the touch. And even as I try my hardest, I can't stop the small sobs that escape.

"Dahlia, what's wrong?" the Captain asks. He awkwardly tries to sit up and comfort me, but he only succeeds in hurting himself further. A stream of curse words falls from his mouth while I compose myself.

"It's nothing," I insist. "It's just that I'm tired, and it's been a pretty stressful night, you know?"

He buys it. "Yeah, I know." He pats my hand again, and I manage to keep it together. "Look, I'll be fine here, and more healers should be coming by soon. Go get some sleep. I'm sure Donald will give you some time off today."

"Thanks," I say quietly. "Feel better,"

"You, too," he replies, but I barely hear him as I bolt back to the stables, my haven.

Donald just directs me to the showers when I get back, even though it's not breakfast time yet. "You're covered in blood," he points out, but I'm more than happy to oblige. I can't seem to scrub my hand enough, where the Captain touched me. Somehow, it wasn't weird when I was carrying him to the hospital wing. Why is it weird now? Why won't it come off? I don't even know what _it _is!

After my shower, I refuse Donald's demands that I get some sleep, instead insisting that I need to see Epona. She seems very happy to see me, and I'm pleased to see that Donald redid the poorly wrapped bandage on her leg, and he also wiped her down very well. "How are you holding up?" I ask her quietly.

I'm seriously fine, she tells me. How's Link?

"The Captain is fine," I tell her. "He's pretty run-over, but he'll be fine." I pause. "The King himself came by. In his night clothes. He was upset."

Epona nods in a horse-like fashion. Yeah, that's because Link got side-tracked on our way home.

"What happened?" I ask, angrily. "Why is he even in this kind of danger? What, does he want to get you both killed?"

Relax, she says, shying away from me. I can't tell you what happened. He told me it was top secret stuff.

"He told you?" I ask. Had he really taken my advice that seriously?

He said that what we went through was way worse than what Vixen went through, Epona continues. So you see? I'll be fine if you'll just get your panties out of your butt.

"I just had to help fix up the Captain's wounds," I warn her. "I'll fix my panties when people aren't getting themselves killed."

After a few more minutes, though, it's clear that Epona won't tell me what happened, and Donald is telling me that he'll dock my pay if I don't go to bed immediately. I finally sink into my mattress, but by the time the lunch bell rings, sleep has yet to claim me. When it's clear I haven't slept, Donald just shakes his head.

"Won't matter anyway," he tells me as he sits on Garret's bed. "The King's insisting that you get a raise and take the day off."

"Why?" I ask, too tired to act as surprised as I am.

"No idea," he replies. "But _I'm_ insisting that you take today off and sleep. You look like a friggin' ghost."

"Fine," I sigh.

When I wake up, dinner is just ending, and I manage to only grab a small bite to eat before the table is cleared. I step back down the hall to check on Epona, but Donald stops me before I can get there. "You're off for the day, remember?"

"I know," I say, rolling my eyes. "Come on, I just want to check on my horses."

"I don't care," he tells me. He puts his hands on my shoulders to turn me around, leading me back to the common bedroom. "You're off, and you're not goin' near those stables, you hear me?"

"Ugh, fine!" I say, shaking my head. He leaves me in the bedroom, but as I lie on my bed, it becomes quickly apparent that I won't be able to sleep. I did just sleep for a good six hours or so, and I feel too awake to try to sleep again.

I hear the guys as they trudge down the hall towards the bathroom to shower, and I know that soon they'll be climbing into bed and falling peacefully asleep. I turn over in jealousy at the thought. And after they've all gotten comfortable under their sheets and the lights have gone off, I'm still uncomfortable and definitely awake.

After what seems like hours, I get up to go to the bathroom. Maybe that trip will help me get back into the mindset that it's bedtime. To my dismay when I look at the clock in the dining room, it's only been about fifteen minutes since the guys came back from showering. Will this night never end? I groan silently as I go to the bathroom anyway.

I splash my face with some water, but that was a stupid idea; I'm more awake now than I was before. What else is there to do but try to sleep? I can't go to the stables; I'm sure that whoever is on the night shift has been told by Donald not to let me in. I could sit in the dining room and read, but I have no way of lighting the lamps. I can't do anything in the bedroom except try to sleep.

I wander down the hallway quietly, my feet following the only path I know beyond the bathroom. I don't even realize where I am until I look up at a plaque on a door; I've reached the hospital wing.

I open the door quietly, and the same pale light as last time fills my vision. I see a different person behind the desk this time, but the Captain is in the same bed as when I left him early this morning.

"Can I help you?" asks the healer. I shiver as he looks me over. I'm sure he's just trying to check for any obvious signs of injury or illness; why else would I be here?

"Sorry, I—"

"Hey," croaks the Captain, who is apparently awake.

"I'm here to visit him," I tell the healer quickly, and my shoulders relax. I wonder what I would have said if the Captain had been asleep. Eesh! I sit quickly in the chair beside the Captain's bed. "Um, so how are you feeling?" The words tumble awkwardly from my mouth.

"I feel like shit," he says with a hoarse laugh. I don't say anything, but he certainly looks like shit. The bruises that I can see on his face, arms, and chest are much darker and more pronounced. His features are slightly distorted from swelling. It ain't a pretty picture, without a doubt.

"Have you slept?" I ask. Sleep, of course, is on my mind.

"Yeah, I've been asleep all day," he rasps. "I woke up an hour ago, and I can't get back to sleep." He pauses. "Why aren't you asleep? You're not on the night shift."

Smart man. "I woke up about thirty minutes ago," I admit. "Now I can't sleep either."

"So, when are you going to tell me what happened?" I ask. I _need_ to know what happened. I have to keep him from getting Epona killed.

"You're funny," he laughs hoarsely. "You know I can't tell you."

"Fine, fine," I say, annoyed. "Well, if you're not going to tell me, then what are we going to talk about?"

"I have no idea," he admits.

Silence passes quietly, with only the sounds of the healer's papers interrupting it. I examine the small blemishes on the ceiling and walls, making up patterns as I go. I hear the Captain sigh a few times, but he doesn't say anything. After a while, his breathing seems to slow, and there are no more signs of his sighs. A glance to the clock reveals that it's well past my bedtime, and I feel a blanket of weariness that I had been hoping to feel hours ago. I nod to the healer and get up to leave.

"Thanks for visiting," the Captain whispers, and my blood goes warm for a moment before turning icy cold.

"Good night," I say quickly, and I slip quietly out the door and back to my own, cool bed.

* * *

I'm updating more quickly than usual, but I'm on a bit of a tear. I'm working on the most difficult part of the story right now, but I'm rediscovering ways to have things happen the way they need to. I'm not sure how long this story will be, but I am excited about how it's going, and how the characters and style will evolve.

Oh, and because it absolutely must be said: BEAT LA. GO CELTICS.


	5. In which I pass out for no reason

With Epona back, the worry that plagued me for weeks dissipates, and I slowly gain back the weight I lost. As I regain my health, so does the Captain. I've visited him a few more times, usually out of boredom, although we don't seem to have much to talk about. Usually, I've visited when sleep escapes me, and he's fallen asleep before I leave.

The month passed slowly, but last night, when I stopped by the hospital wing, the Captain was gone. I guess he's well enough to sleep in his own bed, or maybe even to resume some of his duties. What duties? I have no idea of course.

Epona's wound has healed quickly, especially since it wasn't that bad in the first place. After a couple weeks, she recovered fully, and now I have to spend my time keeping her in shape and busy while the Captain heals.

It's easy to find time for that, though. I didn't just get some random raise. The morning after my first visit to the Captain, I noticed that my list of duties on my clipboard was significantly shorter.

"Donald, you messed up my clipboard," I told him.

"No, I didn't," he sighed.

Apparently, the King had decided that Epona's handler should obviously get some sort of special treatment. I suddenly had only three horses on my list, besides Epona, and I was instructed to keep Epona in shape while the Captain didn't need her. The guys have been very obviously annoyed at the change. After all, why should I get paid to do _less _work?

One improvement, however, is that keeping Epona in shape means that I get to ride her. Since I have significantly fewer chores, there's a lot of riding to be done. At first, it's mostly rehabilitation for her leg. While she wasn't too badly injured, her skin needed a chance to heal. Now, a month later, she's in perfect health, and we're able to go for longer rides. The guys, though, are getting sullen.

"Did you have a good day, Dahlia?" Richard asks glumly as I sit down to eat. Thomas glares at me before returning to his dinner.

It's easy to see that the question is a hostile one. "What do you want me to do?" I ask, annoyed. "Turn down money I need?" There's no response, not from any of the guys. But I know I've only succeeded in pissing them off further. All the respect I may have gained previously is slowly slipping away.

I have to admit, life is a lot more boring now that there's less to do. Usually by the time dinner rolls around, I've been struggling to find things to do. Donald hasn't said anything about it, and I'm getting a little worried. I mean, I'm expected to be working all the time; how am I supposed to work all the time if I don't have enough to do?

"Just take care of Epona," Donald says gruffly. He seems annoyed at me, too. What, I didn't ask for this! Why is everyone so pissed off at me? It's not as if just anyone could have been Epona's handler, and so it's unfair to say that I stole this opportunity. And what was I supposed to do when the Captain showed up half-dead in the stables? Send him off by himself? Besides, taking to the Captain to the hospital wing had nothing to do with my raise. It was all about Epona.

How is it that Epona, the one being I love above all else, is also causing this much stress? Ugh!

Tonight is my night shift, and as usual, I finish my chores early. But unlike before, the night shift is no longer a rest I looking forward to. Instead, it's just yet another lull in my never-ending day.

Soon after I check the clock, which tells me that it's midnight, I hear footsteps in the hallway. When I pop my head out of Epona's stall to see who's here, I don't see anyone.

"Other way, Dahlia," the Captain says, and I turn to see him entering from the castle hallway.

"Hey," I say, happy that I know the visitor, at least. "How have you been feeling? You weren't there when I went to see you last week."

He smiles, and I feel a little nervous when I see his grin. Why? I have no idea. "Yeah, I'm finally feeling well enough to do stairs." He gestures to his leg. "I can finally walk on this thing."

"That's great," I say, and I do mean it. Epona sticks her head out of her stall. "Epona's missed you."

Only a little, she looks at me. Only a little.

"I've missed her, too," the Captain says sincerely, and he limps over to where we are to pat Epona's nose. "So, how have things been? Still boring?"

I had mentioned to him on one of my later visits that there was not enough for me to do. "Yeah, still boring," I admit. "I don't want to turn down this raise or anything, but there's barely anything for me to do."

He nods. "I can talk to the King, if you'd like."

I feel very suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't know," I respond. What would he even say to the King? I might come off as ungrateful, or I might be punished. And I doubt it would help that much with the other stable hands.

"I'm serious," he tells me, although I don't doubt him. "Look, the King is great at his job, but he has no idea what working in the stables is like. He probably thought he was doing you a favor or something."

"The raise is nice," I admit.

We're quiet for a few minutes as the Captain strokes Epona's face. Finally, he asks, "Do you ever get a day off?"

"No," I answer. "Why?" What does he care?

"I was just curious," he replies with a shrug. "The King doesn't know that much about stable life, and I guess I don't either."

I shrug, too. "Well, Donald has been known to grant days off by request. If you're sick, or there's an emergency with your family, or something like that, he'll let you off without consequence. Otherwise, you just have to take the night shift after a day off."

"I see," he replies. "That's too bad. Don't you ever want a break?"

I laugh, and I recount to him how the stable hands all spent their night shifts. "Besides," I add, "I've been pretty bored recently, with my lightened load."

He smiles. "Yeah, I can understand that," he says. He sighs. "So, as soon as the head healer clears me, I'm going to need Epona again." I feel my blood freeze slightly. "Will she be ready to go? I should be ready in a couple days."

"Sure," I reply hollowly. "Yeah, just come down here and I'll get you all set up."

"Thanks, Dahlia," he says with a toothy smile. "So I'll see you soon?"

"Yep," I say, tersely.

"All right, have a good night." And he's limping lightly back into the castle.

"Yep," I repeat. I turn to Epona once the Captain is definitely gone. "Listen up," I hiss at her. "You are going to be extremely careful, all right? Don't let him get you killed. And tell me what happens, okay?"

She tosses her head at me: Chill out; everything will be fine. Don't you trust me?

"Of course I trust you," I tell her. "But he clearly does dangerous things, and by the way he talks about you, I think he's going to rely on you a lot. So keep yourself safe, okay?" I say with exasperation. "And sane," I add. Sane is good. Sane will keep her from turning into Vixen.

But she tosses her head again and ends our conversation. "You are _so_ annoying," I hiss at her before turning back to my book.

Sure enough, the next day, some of my old chores and horses are once again on my clipboard. The guys don't say anything about it, but at dinner, they're once again speaking cordially and including me in their conversation. I feel relieved that things worked out all right, and it's definitely nice to have more to do. I still have time to take Epona for satisfactory rides, but I'm no longer struggling to find things to do.

But the Captain followed through on more than just that. My heart sinks into my shoes when he steps into the stables a few days later, asking for me. "I'll get Epona ready for you," I tell him quickly as I head to the closet to get his tack.

"Hey, did everything work out okay?" he asks, oblivious to my unfriendliness. "I mean, I talked with the King."

"Yeah," I reply. "Thanks, things worked out fine." I pull out the tack and make my way back to Epona. The Captain is hovering over me.

"So I'll try to come back sooner this time," he tells me. "And with fewer injuries." He's smiling a little.

Oh, Goddesses, he's trying to make jokes. I sigh. "No injuries, please," I tell him. I mean Epona, but I figure he thinks I mean him.

"Okay, well, you're in a bad mood," he says, picking up on my tone at last. Smart kid. "Well, hopefully, we'll be back soon, maybe a few days."

Soon, Epona's all ready to go, and the Captain climbs up and walks her out of the stables. I'm left behind to wait once again.

This time, though, I wait for a long time. "A few days?" Bullshit.

My duties and chores return to the way they were before my raise, although my raise remains. I lose weight again, and although Donald and the guys try to make sure I eat, any more than a little bit of food makes me ill.

A week passes, during which I'm fine. Two weeks pass, and then I expect to see the Captain and Epona striding into the stables at any moment. Three weeks, and I'm worried. A month, and I'm almost sick.

Two months, and I'm forced to spend a week in the hospital wing after I pass out during a particularly warm day. When the healers try to ask what's wrong with me, I honestly have no answer.

I wish I knew what was wrong. I just don't feel hungry enough to eat, and when I eat too much, I can't contain it. I'm tired all the time, even though I get the same amount of sleep I always do. I don't work myself too hard.

I know it has something to do with Epona and the Captain being away, but I'm not sure what it is. I've lived without Epona before, and so I know it's not because I miss her. And I don't think I really miss the Captain. I've got no answers, either for the healers or for myself.

So far, I've spent three days of my mandatory hospital stay reading, but I guess I'm getting bored. There's nothing else to do, but no one will let me go back to work. No one will even _agree_ with me that I should be allowed to work, or even be allowed to spend my days in the stables. I'm being forced to stay in bed all day, and I have to say … this blows.

"I'm dimming the lights," the on-call healer tells me. I sigh and put my book down on the small table beside my bed. While the lights will stay on, it'll be too dim to read comfortably, and I'm supposed to try to sleep anyway. Of course, I've been lying in bed all day, and the idea that I'll fall asleep now is an absurd one.

I sigh, pulling the sheets around me a little. I wonder if I should just quit or something. After all, it's clear that this job is having an unhealthy effect on me. I'm stuck in the hospital wing, after all. I have enough money saved up that I could easily rent a room somewhere for a while, and I could take my time finding another job.

Do I want to leave, though? I don't know. But right now, I'm certainly far from content. Is it just because Epona's gone? I have no idea. And after many hours of contemplation and worry, I finally drift off.

My sleep is punctuated, though, with urgent whispering and random noises. I toss and turn, wondering what message my subconscious is trying to tell me. Either way, it's the least restful sleep I've had since I got here months ago.

Finally, my bladder calls for my attention, and I know I should get up to use the bathroom. I drag my eyelids open and untangle my legs from the sheets. But when I sit up and place my feet on the cool floor, I find that the bed next to mine is not empty.

"He came in while you were asleep," says the new on-call healer. She proceeds to ignore me as I then get up to use the bathroom. When I return, the person in the bed has turned over, and to my immense shock, it's the Captain.

It's too early for my body and mind to take a surprise like this one. I stumble slightly, but to my relief, the healer thinks I've just tripped a little bit. I quietly make my way to the Captain's bed. He certainly looks better than he did the last time I saw him here. He has some cuts and scratches on his face, but otherwise he looks fine. But then my hands take on a life of their own. I want to cry out, "What are you doing?" but I manage to stay silent as they reach down and pull back the covers. Why am I pulling back the covers?

Because somehow, I know that the Captain wouldn't be staying in the hospital wing for just a few scratches on his face.

"Holy Farore," I whisper. His chest has been covered in layers of gauze, but there's still a little blood seeping through. He looks very pale, but I hope it's just the dim light.

"Miss, please return to your bed," the healer admonishes me. After gently pushing me back into my bed, she turns to the Captain and covers him once again with his blanket. "He won't heal if you play with the dressings." What, does she think I'm some idiot child?

Of course, now I'm wide awake, and with the Captain asleep and the lights dimmed, there's nothing to actually do but brood.

Thoughts are rushing through my head, although they're repetitive. What happened? How badly is he hurt? How soon will he be better? Is it just the light that's making him look pale? Is he asleep because he's tired, or because of blood loss? Is he hurt anywhere else? Is Epona unharmed, or is she even worse than he is? Would someone from the stables come and get me if there were something wrong with her?

These thoughts repeat, over and over, as the room brightens and the clock ticks. I can see red light through my eyelids, but I know that the only thing that'll be there when they open is intense, un-ending _boredom_. And the sight of my friend's listless body. So I keep them closed.

Time passes, I think. I can't fall back to sleep, and I can't think of anything else except the Captain and his health. Why can't I think of anything else? It's just yet another thing to add to my list of mysteries.

"Dahlia, you can't be asleep," says the Captain.

"Oh, screw you," I reply. I keep my eyes closed. "So, what's the damage report?"

"Couple bruises and scratches," he says nonchalantly. "Nothing to worry about."

"Right, there's no huge chest wound or anything that you're pretending I don't already know about."

Silence for a moment. "It's not as bad as it looks, okay? Sometimes wounds bleed a lot, but they're not that bad. I'm serious, I'll be fine in a few days."

"And there's nothing else?"

"I promise." More silence. "So, why are you even here?"

I groan. "I don't want to talk about it." Which is true. "But I'm here for a few more days."

"Are you sick or something?"

"No, and I don't want to talk about it. Is Epona okay?"

Silence yet again. The world is so quiet when your eyes are shut. "Wait, so you haven't been to the stables at all?" he asks.

"I'm only allowed to leave my bed to go to the bathroom or shower," I say with annoyance. "Of course I haven't been to the stables. So, is she okay?"

"Oh," he says. "Well, yeah, she's fine."

I open my eyes. "Is she just fine in the same way that you only have a couple bruises and scratches?" I ask suspiciously.

To my relief, it was the dim morning light that left the Captain looking washed out. He really does look all right. He's sitting up in bed, his chest wound newly dressed and with no blood peeking through. "She's actually fine," he replies, smiling. "Maybe she got a little dirty or something, so my humblest apologies."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry, it's just that your horses tend to go crazy."

It's his turn to roll his eyes. "You know, you really have no faith sometimes."

"Well, please, it's—"

He interrupts me. "No, seriously. First of all, you know that I would never put anyone in danger, not even a horse, for no good reason. And second of all, even I can tell Epona's a special horse, and I'm not that smart when it comes to horses. Yes, in the past, my horses have gone a little nutty, but Epona's not going to do that." He pauses. "You need to stop deciding how people are going to react. Or horses."

"I don't decide how people are going to react," I say defensively. I prop myself up so I'm on my elbows. "I'm just not idealistic, you know?"

He shrugs. "Well, I can't tell you what I'm doing, but I can tell you this: Epona's going to be fine."

I give him a wry smile. "Yeah, but will _you?"_ I sigh. "It's the second time in a row that you've come back to spend time in the hospital wing. Does this always happen?"

It's his turn to sigh. I watch the gauze rise and fall. "No, it doesn't," he admits. "Things are taking more time, and they're getting harder."

"Why can't you just tell me?" I ask with frustration. I really, really, _really _want to know! Why won't he just spill the fucking beans already?

"I can't, okay?" He seems unhappy that I keep asking. "Look, if I can ever tell anyone, you'll be the first to know."

"Do you promise?" I ask, like a child.

He grins. "I promise. So when you're in your eighties, I'll come over and let you know."

"Oh, you're full of it," I say, laughing softly. I turn over so I can sit up in my bed. I glance at the clock to see that it's almost noon.

"Well, that is probably true," he says slowly.

We spend the rest of the day simply talking. He seems curious about why I'm in the hospital wing, but I don't feel comfortable admitting that it seems to be because he and Epona left. I'm still unsure of what it means.But I'm glad that I'm here, if just for the conversation. The on-call healer has to actually snap at us to make us stop talking when it's officially "bed time." I wonder if it makes him feel as much like a child as I do.

The next day is more of the same, although the healers redress the Captain's wound with much less gauze. I get a good glimpse at it, and he was being truthful; it really isn't that bad.

The next morning, though, I awaken to the soft sound of someone getting dressed. I drag my eyes open and rub away the sandy sleep. The Captain is out of bed, pulling his clothes on. I struggle to sit up; why don't my arms work in the morning? Maybe I'll just remain on my elbows for now.

"Why are you getting dressed?" I ask, my voice still filled with sleep. "Have you been discharged?"

"Yeah," he says, sounding a bit sad. "And I've got a lot to get in order before I leave."

What? "You're leaving again?" I sit up quickly, which is a bad idea. Whoops, dizzy. "You've only been back for a few days."

He sighs. "I know, but I left a lot unfinished. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Like last time," I say moodily. Last time, when he was gone for two months. When I lost ten pounds and passed out while I was trying to work. When I was sent to the hospital wing.

I feel his weight on the bed before I look up at him. "I'm coming back, okay? I always do. And Epona will be totally fine. I promise." And he reaches up and gently caresses my upper arm.

I feel electricity course through my veins, beginning at that very spot. It's the most intimate feeling I've ever experienced, and I have to prevent myself from pushing myself against his hand, to feel more of his palm against my skin.

But after a moment, the electricity begins to burn, and my arm jolts slightly. It's enough to make the caress end. The Captain looks at me with slightly concern, but I manage to play it off as just a chill. After he leaves, I immediately run to the bathroom for a shower. The burn won't go away, even though I can't see it.

By the end of the week, I'm allowed back into the stables, although Donald has charged the guys with keeping a close eye on me. On Wednesday, this nearly results in my death; I am about to leave the stall of a very skittish horse when I am all too suddenly greeted with Garret's face. He'd been watching me to make sure I didn't faint in the stall, but the result of his supervision is that I scream and stumble backwards into the stall. Quick thinking on his part prevents me from being trampled.

"Well, I didn't think I would scare you!" he says later, while we eat lunch.

"Well, I didn't think anyone would be there!" I point out, still shaken. My hand is still trembling as I try to lift my sandwich to my mouth. "Sorry, you just scared the shit out of me."

"But you didn't faint," mentions Victor. "So you're getting better."

I roll my eyes. "I nearly get trampled, but at least I'm getting better." We all laugh; I absent-mindedly rub my arm.

* * *

I'm not sure when the next update will happen. My dog is dying, and so I'm sort of freaking out right now. The bass from the 1:30 am party that's going on downstairs is also driving me absolutely insane, but that's another issue entirely.


	6. In which I learn a little history

Summer slowly intensifies. Donald is having us take long breaks inside, where the cool stones of the castle keep us safe from heat stroke. He, meanwhile, spends most of his time arguing to find a way to cool off the stables. Our latest responsibility is to take the horses out and douse them with cold water to make sure that they're not uncomfortably warm, and Donald has decided that there has to be a way to keep the stables themselves cooler.

We don't mind watering down the horses, though. Since Donald is spending his days in litigation, he's not ever here to make sure that we're just professionally cooling down the horses. To be fair, we're not having water fights. We're simply helping each other out.

"Hit me!" shouts Garret, and I splash him with my newly filled bucket. "Fuck, that feels good!" He's wearing only his boots and breeches, and his shoulders are starting to burn slightly. "Man, you're so lucky you get to spend today doing Donald's paperwork." He takes the bucket from me to refill it. "It's so much cooler in his office than our room."

"He picked me to do his paperwork because my handwriting doesn't look like someone puked on the page," I point out. "Besides," I add, truthfully, "I think he's just trying to insure that I stay ladylike and what have you. I might cause quite a stir if I took off my shirt and poured water all over myself."

"Whoa, what are we talking about?" asks Derrick, who's just arrived with another horse. "Dahlia, are you going to take your shirt off?"

"She was saying that she's been relegated to paperwork so she _doesn't_ do that," Garret clarifies. "But you know, Donald will never know." Both guys grin at me.

I grab the bucket from Garret and dump the icy cold water on him. "Yeah, except I'll drip all over the paper when I get back, right?" Derrick laughs, and I hand the bucket back to Garret. "Anyway, I've got work to do, so I'll see you guys at dinner."

Things have been slow and lazy in the month that Epona and the Captain have been gone. To everyone's relief, I've been eating normally again, and I've gained back a little of the weight I've lost. I'm trying to be better about things, though; I don't like the feelings of my ribs when I'm washing myself in the shower.

But somehow, I don't feel quite as anxious as I did the last couple times Epona and the Captain were gone. Maybe it's because of what he said about me almost deciding that Epona would go mad. Maybe it's because he's always come back in the past, and Epona's always been fine. Or maybe it's because it's so fucking hot out that I can't put any energy into worrying about anything except not spontaneously combusting into the muggy summer air.

The last one is probably it. Even in Donald's office, I feel like I'm melting slightly, as if my hair will run in rivulets down my back and shoulders, and my eyes will spill out of their sockets like tears. And my skin will simply become water, unable to maintain its surface tension, and splash suddenly to the floor.

Yeah, it's hot.

I sift through more paper. Donald is simply having me clean off his desk and organize the whole office. There's not much paperwork that I have the authority to do, but it is pretty cool to sit here and go through everything. Just by going through all this paper, I've learned how we get supplies, as well as how much they cost. I discover sheets with information on various horses, ones that we've bought or sold over the years. I also find pay-roll information, although I feel embarrassed when I realize what I'm looking at. I easily make twice as much as the other stable hands! I resolve to talk to the Captain when he gets back. While I like getting five hundred rupees a week, I thought that maybe some of the guys were getting four hundred. Instead, the highest salary is Richard's, and he's only getting two hundred and fifty.

I shift in my seat uncomfortably; I wish I didn't know the guys' salaries. If I didn't know, then I wouldn't feel guilty about making so much, but I also feel uncomfortable with it in general. It's information that I did not get honestly, even though I'm only following orders, and I needed to look at the sheets of paper in order to file them. Even so, since the guys never told me themselves, this information feels almost illegal.

A sigh escapes my lips as I gently even out the stack of pay-roll papers and slide them into a folder I created. Now, I've cleared off half of the desk, which leaves me with the other half, two bookshelves, a wall of cubby holes, and a filing cabinet to go. Is Donald incapable of keeping anything neat?

The other side of the desk reveals more of the same: details of past and present horses, buyers and sellers, supply managers, delivery dates and times. But the cubby holes begin to reveal more interesting information.

_Erik, from Kakariko. Stables from 12006-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

_Gregory, from Labrynna. Stables from 12003-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

_Percy, from Kakariko. Stables from 12007-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

_Martin, from Kakariko. Stables from 12005-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

_David, from Castle Town. Stables from 12008-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

_Joshua, from Kakariko. Stables from 12006-12008. Reason for leaving: Joined Guard._

Each sheet holds a separate name and story, a separate list of raises, incidents, horses, and events. And several sheets hold one startling similarity: the year they left, and the reason.

No wonder Donald dislikes the Captain so much. The Captain himself mentioned, one night in the hospital wing, that he had been made Captain in the fall of 12008. There are easily fifteen or twenty young men who left that year. There are some sheets with men who left in 12006 or 12007, and earlier; it seems as if Donald likes to remember all the young people who've worked for him. Some of the individuals are much older, though, in their thirties or forties. Most, however, seem to be around my age or slightly older. And there are no young men who left in 12008 who didn't join the Guard. All of the stable hands present when the Captain got his job either joined the Guard or stayed here. And I can obviously count on one hand the ones who stayed.

I sigh as I sift through, trying to think of how I should file these young men. By age? Region? Reason for leaving? Ha, the last one would be hurtful. I resign myself to filing by the date they left. After I arrange the papers I have, I discover even more sheets of stable hands in a drawer I had yet to go through. I sigh heavily; Donald seems to have been here for years, and he clearly intends to keep record of everyone who's stepped foot in here.

Some of the stable hands are more young men who joined the guard. To my surprise, I also find one with my name on it. It lists all the horses I've ever taken care of, with stars next to the ones I take care of on a regular basis. Blaze's name has two stars next to it, even though he's not my horse. But I look down to see that the double star leads to a few lines of text which note that I somehow managed to start Blaze's training successfully in under five minutes. Ha, that's because I'm awesome. Duh.

Epona's name is heavily circled, and I notice that there's an entire portion of text devoted to her. I read on:

_Dahlia seems to have a connection with Epona that precedes the mare's time here. Perhaps Dahlia worked at Lon Lon Ranch and lied about it? The mare listens only to her, requiring her to be the handler._

_Dahlia has been granted a raise by the King himself. Apparently, the Captain has taken a serious liking to his horse, and it is necessary to reward the (talented) handler. While I don't mind that she's been given a raise, the other boys are resentful._

_The Captain has requested that Dahlia be given private quarters in the castle, and that her hours be shortened. I have denied this request. The Captain is currently away, and therefore has yet to contest my decision. While Dahlia is the first and only female stable hand, I would find it inappropriate to give her such special treatment._

Whoa! The Captain … he what? But why? Why would he request such a thing? I mean, I guess having my own quarters would be nice, but I'm so used to my schedule and my habits right now that it's not a hassle to live with five men. I've never had them walk in on me during a shower, and I've never been taken advantage of at night …

I shiver, but I shake Malon away. Go away. I'm Dahlia now, and I don't have time for your self-pity. I don't have time for your meltdown. The only acceptable meltdown would be caused by the heat, obviously.

I quell my panic and carefully begin to file my own profile, as well as the huge stack I've just come across. But there's no way I can escape from Malon today. Since I am sitting on the floor, I nearly smack my head on the desk when I find yet another familiar name:

_Ingo, from Kakariko. Stables from 11995-12000. Reason for leaving: New employment._

I skip the list of horses. They're irrelevant.

_Ingo has severe anger management problems and problems with authority. He dislikes working under someone who is only a few years his elder, and he resents that he must consider younger stable hands to be his equals. He now is docked 5 rupees from his weekly pay for each incident reported by another stable hand._

_Ingo has been suspended for a week without pay for harassing a female guest of the stable. The young lady was a visiting dignitary, and the King struggled to smooth over the incident._

_Ingo has been suspended for a week without pay for assaulting a female guest of the stable. The young lady, Miss Marin of Lon Lon Ranch, declined to press charges, but did request that Ingo not handle any horses purchased from the ranch. Her request was granted._

_Ingo is finally leaving after five frustrating years. Sadly, Miss Marin of Lon Lon Ranch has passed away, and her husband, Talon, has invited Ingo to help manage the ranch. I will be sending a report to Talon to alert him to his new stable hand's behaviors from the castle stables._

My hands tremble, and my body goes suddenly and terribly icy cold. I'm bombarded with the urge to take the longest shower of my life and scrub my skin until it comes off in strips.

Dad knew that Ingo was a creep, and he _still_ didn't do anything! I knew I was right not to tell him about what happened. I _knew_ it. I find myself unable to see as tears blur my vision. Or maybe my eyes finally melted. But for the first time, I know that leaving the ranch was the right thing to do. Dad would never have understood.

I can't take it anymore. I throw the papers down on the desk, undoing all of the cleaning I've done, and I bolt out of the stables. As I run, I pull of my tunic and undershirt, until I am in just my boots, breeches, and bra. "Dahlia, what the hell?" I think it's Garret talking, but I don't even care. I grab a bucket from someone's hand, and when I see that it's already filled with water, I dump it on top of myself.

The icy shock brings me back to reality. I blink to find Garret and Victor staring at me, eyes popping out of their skulls. But the chill of the water has brought my skin back to life, and so I no longer feel the burning sense of unclean from before. "What?" I ask.

"Well, aside from the shock of having you run down here and dumping water all over yourself," Garret begins, "your bra is soaked through."

I feel my body go warm with embarrassment, which doesn't feel comfortable when you're out in the oppressive heat. "Shit," I say, under my breath, but Victor has already thrown me a towel. I wrap it around my upper body self-consciously.

"It's all right," Victor tells me. "We've been fucking around all week shirtless. It's only fair that you be able to cool down the same way." I look up, prepared to snap at him, but I realize that he's being genuine.

I sigh. "I'm sorry, I just felt the urge to do this," I admit. I don't need to explain the urge. They will think it's the heat; I will know better.

After I dry off, I return to the office. Without looking at names, I carefully file the rest of the stable hand profiles and put them in a now clean filing drawer. The desk is now as clear as if was before my breakdown, and I feel satisfied enough with my recovery to get back to work. For the rest of the afternoon, there are no more surprises, pleasant or otherwise.

Donald returns from litigation later that week, although his office is not completely organized. But he seems pleased enough with the work I've done, and he locks himself inside, trying to find a way to go back and get _someone_ to help cool off the stables. Apparently, the people he's spoken to either think that there's no way to cool the stables off, or they simply don't think it's that important. The latter group has clearly never spent the day in a warm barn, filled with the smell of horses, hay … and manure.

To my surprise, when I check my night shift clipboard, Epona's name is once again scribbled down. I hurry to her stall, and sure enough, she's there. "When did you get back?" I ask excitedly.

Maybe a half hour ago, she says to me. Man, it's hot in here.

"I know," I reply. "Tomorrow, you'll get to go outside and get splashed with some cool water."

Mmmm, sounds good.

"So, are you hurt at all?"

Nope. Everything went smoothly, for once.

"Good," I say strongly. No injuries. That's the best way for things to be.

"Ingo used to work here," I tell her after a few minutes of silence.

Really? she asks, tossing her head. That creep worked here?

"Yeah." I scratch her nose. "I'll tell you all about it when I'm done with my chores."

It doesn't take long to finish everything, though. Donald feels terrible about making any of us work in such heat, and so he's been giving us more restful night shifts as a sort of "thank you for working when the planet is melting" gift. But when I return to Epona's stall, she's not alone.

"Hey," says the Captain, waving at me. "See? No injuries."

I smile. "Good. You learn quickly."

But as I walk up to him, he holds out his arms; before I can react, he's starting to hug me. I pull back and push him away gently. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," I lie. "It's just so hot, I can't touch anyone right now, you know?"

He nods, and he seems to believe it. It _is_ true. What was left unsaid, of course, is that I can't seem to bear it when he touches me even the slightest bit. How do you tell someone that they're hurting you when you don't even understand why?

"Well, sorry I couldn't get back sooner," he says awkwardly as he feeds Epona a carrot he's brought down with him.

"It's all right," I say truthfully.

"It's just that last time we were gone, you got really sick," he adds.

"I know," I reply. "I'm fine, now, though."

"Good." He smiles.

He stays with me for a while, and we chill out on a bench. He tells me mundane stories from his month away, and I notice that he's very careful to leave out the details he knows that I wish he would tell me. I in turn recount boring stories from the stables.

When I mention that Donald had me clean up his office, though, I remember my own profile sheet. "Hey, why did you ask for me to have my own quarters in the castle?" I ask him. "And for me to have shorter hours?"

He blushes deeply. "I figured that since you were still living with the guys and working normal hours that Donald had denied my request," he says sheepishly.

"He did," I tell him. "I read it on my own profile sheet. Why did you do that?"

He shrugs awkwardly and leans his head against the wooden wall of the stable. "I guess I thought I was doing you a favor," he admits. "You aren't just some random stable hand, and it's not just because you're a girl. And besides, Donald gets to live in the castle and work shorter hours. Why shouldn't you?"

"I'm a stable hand," I point out. "I'm not the head of the stables."

"I know," he replies with frustration. "But I've spoken to Donald about you. You know how to do more than the other stable hands. He told me you could even train horses, something that the other guys can't do. And you're Epona's handler," he says seriously. "While you might not understand exactly what I'm doing when I'm gone, you need to believe me when I say that my life is probably a hundred times safer, and my job a hundred times easier with Epona." He pauses. "I know that sounds totally sappy, but it's really true. And I really think you deserve special treatment for that."

I sigh heavily. I do believe him; Epona is an incredible horse. But I'm not that incredible. "I'm not doing anything special with her," I tell him.

"Liar," he says, but he's not smiling.

"I'm not lying!" I shout at him. His eyes are wide, and I realize that I'm probably making some sort of scene. With Malon trying to break free today, I guess I'm being more sensitive about when I'm telling the truth, and when I'm making up another lie. "Sorry," I whisper, trying to relax a little. "Look, what I mean is that I'm not really putting shitloads of effort into taking care of Epona. She's a special horse, but I don't give her special treatment."

Epona sticks her head out of her stall and looks at us. Well, you do spend more time with me than other horses. When I glare at her, she blinks at me, acknowledging that I'm actually being truthful. And I am; I'm only Epona's handler because she's a unique horse. And she's unique because she's decided that she will only listen to me. If she were less picky, someone else might be her handler, and the Captain might be trying to convince Donald to let another stable hand have special treatment.

The Captain lets out a heavy sigh. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You haven't offended me," I say. "It's just been a very warm week, and I'm really just out of it, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." He straightens up and looks at me. "So you don't want me to push for your own quarters and stuff?"

I smile. I guess he really does just want to do me a favor. "I'm fine where I am. And if I don't like staying in a room with all those boys, I'm sure that I'll be allowed to sleep over in the hospital wing sometimes." I grin widely. "After all, you'll need someone to keep you company."

He laughs. "Hey, I'm not hurt this time."

"I know. But there's always next time."

He sighs. "Yeah, there's always next time. Next week, in fact."

I groan. "You always do this."

"Do what?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"Do you ever stay here when you're not injured?" I ask seriously.

He frowns in thought. "Not recently, no," he admits. "I'm usually only here when I'm recovering from an injury, when I need to speak with the King, or when my horse is injured."

"Well, that's not often," I say bitterly.

"It's not constant," he says. "Just recently. I think the King gave me this silly Captain title to try to make me stick around more often."

Wait, what? "I don't get it," I say. "So you're not actually the Captain of the Guard?"

"I am," he says. "But really in title only. I have an assistant who actually does all the scheduling and paperwork for me, and the training is conducted by the more experienced guards. I did create the training program, though." He says it as though it makes his job more real. "But clearly, I'm never here to implement it."

"Then why be the Captain of the Guard if it's just a ploy to make you stay here?" In my mind, if you don't want to be somewhere, then nothing can keep you from leaving.

"Because otherwise people are going to question why some punk is dining with the King and the Princess, living in the castle, and spending their hard-earned tax money on really badass weaponry," he says with a smile.

"People question that anyway," I point out. "It's not often that someone in your position would be treated like a member of the Royal family." I wonder why he _is _treated like that, though. But I have a feeling that my question would only be answered when I'm in my eighties.

"You're right. But they question it less, you know?"

"True." We're quiet for a few minutes. "I wouldn't tell anyone, you know."

"I know." He's quiet for a bit. "I'd tell you if I could, you know. You'd be the first one to know."

"Why?" I ask suddenly. Doesn't he have other friends? Parents who wonder where he is, what he's doing?

"Because you're the first person I've met who's so eager to know," he laughs. "I figure that's got to be worth something. The guards don't care what I'm doing; they're all just pissed they don't get to spend ridiculous amounts of time with me. The Royal family knows, but that's part of why I can't tell people. I have no family, so they're not wondering where I am at all."

"Friends?" I ask quietly. He sighs heavily. "Okay, we won't talk about that."

He smiles sadly. "It's not that I don't have friends," he admits. "I guess I just really have acquaintances, people who barely know me, or just want to be friends because I'm famous and whatnot."

"I don't give a flying fuck if you're famous," I say absent-mindedly as I pull a straw from my boot. I drop it into a stall that's next to the bench.

"I know," he says. "And you're not just some person who barely knows me."

I frown. "I do barely know you," I say without thinking. I realize, after a few moments of silence, though, that I've really hurt him. He's staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. "I didn't mean it like that," I say quickly. "What I mean is that I like spending time with you, and talking with you. I miss you when you're away. But if someone held a 'Captain of the Guard Trivia Challenge,' I wouldn't even be the runner up."

He sighs. "Is that how you think of me?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, am I just the annoying, lonely, injury-prone Captain of the Guard?"

"You're adding adjectives," I say. "I would have stuck with injury-prone."

"Do you even remember my name?" He sounds irritated and angry.

"Yes," I say defensively. "It's Link." It's as if I'm speaking a foreign tongue, one that I've not used in years. It's then, as I look at him, that he seems to soften a little. It's not his expression, though. Something else, perhaps, but I don't know.

"Well, there you go," he says. "You now probably know more about me than anyone but the King and Princess Zelda."

"You're lying," I say. "What do I know about you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Were you asleep or something when we would talk in the hospital wing?"

"No," I say. But we talked about random, mundane things, like ice cream, games we played as kids, our least favorite day of the week.

"I'm serious," he says to me. He turns to me and takes my hands in his. Whatever he says next, though, I can't hear. My hands feel warm, somehow more alive. A jolt runs through my body, but it's soon replaced by a feeling of revulsion, of pain. There's a roaring in my ears.

He sighs and drops my hands. "You know, I never even told Zelda that."

Oh, shit, he just told me something important, and I wasn't listening. "You haven't?" I ask, pretending to have heard every word that he just spoke.

"Yeah, she still thinks I like peach ice cream," he says sadly.

Oh. _Oh_, he was talking about ice cream. Well, I know his favorite ice cream. He told me. "Then just tell her you prefer chocolate. She won't be mad at you."

"Do you think?" he asks. "I mean, it's just ice cream, you know? It's not like it's important."

"I know," I say. "But it's bothering you, and that's what matters. Besides," I add, "you're convincing yourself that she's going to get pissed at you. But you really don't know she will. I think that's just your discomfort and fear making up a reason to keep it a secret."

He smiles at me. "Well, even if I tell Zelda, will you keep it a secret?"

"Why?" I ask. "It's fucking ice cream, Link. It's not a safe combination."

"I know," he says. "But do you know how much fan mail I'll get with chicks all over Hyrule begging me to join them for an ice cream sundae?"

I laugh. "You'd better hope they just send mail. Can you imagine if they tried to send you ice cream?"

He laughs, too. "They might just stand underneath the balcony of my apartment with a couple bowls of it, trying to entice me to jump down and dig in."

We laugh and talk until well after midnight, when Link insists that he needs to get some sleep. He also promises me that he'll visit as often as possible before he leaves next week. After he's out of sight, although not out of mind, I run to the nearest sink and scrub my hands raw.

What on earth is wrong with me? He just touched my hand; why is that such a problem? And it always feels nice at first. Why can't it keep feeling nice? Is it something I did? Something he did? I continue to scrub, hoping that my hands don't bleed too much. But the soap stinging my pink skin feels good—feels clean.

* * *

Well, Lady passed away on June 27th. I'm still having a lot of trouble with it. I don't know; I just can't believe that for the rest of my life, I will never again hug her, or have her give me kisses to make me feel better.

On the plus side, if there could possibly be one in this tragedy, I am getting a parakeet in about a week and a half. He's going to be bright green, and I'm going to name him Loki. I will have to come up with a reserve name in case he turns out to be a girl, since it's hard to sex infant 'keets.

Please review. I'm such a review whore, I know. But look, things are getting hotter (quite literally). Yay, right?


	7. In which the preparations begin

The swelter of summer finally begins to pass, to everyone's relief, and to mine especially. After my one bra-soaking, I decided against taking my shirt off and cooling down with the guys. It wasn't a terrible experience, but I like life better when the guys don't remember that I'm a girl. And so I stay a little warmer, a little hotter, and a little sweatier than everyone else as the last days of summer approach.

I much prefer the fall. It's not only because this is the season of my birthday, although it does help. But again, it's not just that.

At the ranch, autumn is a rather sad time. It meant that we had to dig up the garden, and that we'd be spending more time indoors very soon (winter has never been a favorite season of mine). But the scents and the colors that bleed into the wind and the earth are haunting and breath-taking. The flies and mosquitoes are gone, the air is dry, and the breeze carries a hint of what's to come. And the leaves change so slowly that one morning you wake up, and you suddenly realize that the once green trees are now a glowing sunset.

You can't beat that.

Link has come and gone a few times since his night shift visit. He's come by the stables just to talk, but he can never stay long. He's usually away for my night shifts, and so he's had to visit during the day, while I'm supposed to be working. It's not the best idea for him to be hanging out with me in the daytime. He knows that Donald can't stand him, and he has no desire to worsen the relationship by distracting me from work. "I didn't make those stable hands sign up for the Guard," he tells me one afternoon, though, as I'm taking a break from the heat. "Word just got out so quickly, and I think a lot of the guys just wanted to be like me. They, of course, didn't stop to realize that I didn't get my start as a member of the Guard."

He's making an effort to share more with me, since he can't tell me what I most want to know. I feel terrible, though, that I can't return the favor. I struggle to keep my lies simple, to mention my father vaguely, to mention only locations in Kakariko that I am familiar with. But it's so hard. I stick to more concrete things, such as my favorite books, funny stories about horses I've worked with, or silly stories from when I was a kid. Link doesn't seem to think that I'm lying or being too reserved. But from time to time, I just let him talk, and I mull over the lies I've told.

Of course, Link is away so often that I don't have to spend too many hours concocting bullshit stories for him. As the days grow shorter and cooler, I feel the loneliness of the season and the stables. I wish he would stay more often; that way, even if he's busy elsewhere in the castle, Epona's here to keep me company.

Tonight, Link's been gone for two weeks. I'm happy that I haven't had any issues eating (or fainting) since the time he was gone for two months. I still have no idea how that happened. Maybe I was simply weaker then? What was different?

I do miss him, though. I miss Epona, too, but … not like this.

I'm on the night shift tonight, which is very frustrating. I was on the night shift _last_ night, but Thomas asked for a night off at the last minute, and the other guys had already gone to bed. I was still awake and in the stables; Cherie, the Princess' horse, was acting up, and Donald asked me to take a look at her. It turns out that she was fine; she thought that there was a small animal in her stall, and upon investigation, there was none. And since I was there, conveniently enough, I found myself on yet another night shift. My compensation? I'm allowed one night off without any repercussions. I take the offer. You never know when you might need a night off.

But tonight, I had really hoped to take a shower after the guys went to bed. Derrick spooked a horse by accident while I was reaching into the mud for a lost piece of tack. I found myself kicked face down into the mud, and now I have muddy hair. And it's too cool out to just turn the outside tap and stick my hair under.

Besides, I'm gross everywhere. My hair is just yet another thing about me that needs to be cleaned.

"Hey, muddy buddy," Link calls out as he steps into the stables. He's leading Epona, who looks fine, although she's sporting some dirt and a tired look. "Wasn't your night shift last night?"

"How did you know that?" I ask as I take Epona's reins and walk her to her stall.

He shrugs. "It's not the hardest math. There are only six of you, so you're on every six days."

"Well, you're right," I admit. "I _was_ on the night shift last night." I remove Epona's tack and gently brush away some of the dirt on her.

"Why are you on the night shift twice in a row?" Link scratches his head. "Isn't that a little cruel?" I explain to him what happened as I finish getting Epona squared away. "When do you think you'll use your night off, then?"

I shrug as I exit the stall. "I don't know. Not for a while, I guess. I don't want to use it up and then wish I had waited. Donald is stingy enough about giving people the day off, but he rarely gives people the night off. If Thomas weren't having a family emergency, he'd never be able to get off the night shift."

"Well, you don't want to wait too long," Link warns as we sit on a bench. "It's easy to keep waiting to use something like a night off until it's too late."

I laugh. "Too late? What, do you think I'll get fired or something."

He shrugs again. "I don't know. But you should plan on using it sooner rather than later. Like for your birthday or something."

"My birthday was last Wednesday," I tell him.

"Are you serious?" I nod. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't even here," I say, chuckling a little.

"I know," he says. "But still, now I feel bad."

"There's no reason to feel bad," I reassure him. I reach up to pat him on the shoulder, but I freeze before I touch him. Quickly, I brush some hair out of my face, hoping that he'll think that was my intention all along. "It's not that big a deal. I didn't even remember it until maybe the day before."

"I still feel bad," he replies. "Come on, what can I do?"

"But I'm not upset at you," I say, confused. "Why do you need to do anything?"

"I don't know," he answers.

"So, how long are you back for?" I ask, changing the subject. I don't like that he feels badly about missing my birthday. I don't even understand why it's such a big deal. I'm just nineteen now; nothing else has changed.

"A few days," he replies. "So how old are you now?"

Didn't I just change the subject? I could have sworn I did. "Nineteen," I reply. "Why, how old are you?"

"Twenty-five," he responds.

"Now, when's your birthday? I can tell birthdays are important to you, so I wouldn't want to miss yours." I realize after I've spoken that I could have used a nicer tone.

"It's in late winter," he says. "I know you're upset about me leaving again, but you could be nicer about it, you know."

"I'm sorry," I tell him sincerely. While I was actually annoyed with him for not dropping the subject, I _am_ sorry for being snarky to him. "When do you think you'll be back?"

"Another week, I think. Maybe two, if something comes up."

I nod. "Let's hope for a week, then."

"Definitely. I'm getting kind of tired."

The next week, Link arrives at the stables in traveling clothes, with his pack slung over his shoulder. He doesn't need to say anything; I've already brought out Epona's tack.

"I'll try to be back soon," he tells me.

"I know," I reply. But I'm having trouble pushing away the unhappy feelings that always find me when Link and Epona leave. My unhappy feelings deepen when I learn that Thomas had lied about having a family emergency; he had really been partying all night with friends for out of town. I'm not planning on snitching on him, but I do plan on exacting some sort of revenge when the time is right. Jackass.

I'm mucking out a stall when the bell rings for dinner. However, this evening, Donald is waiting for us when we sit down for our meal. "What's the occasion, big guy?" Thomas asks with a grin. I myself am anxious to find out why he's here. Does he know I read through some of the profiles in his office or something?

"I have just been informed that the King is hosting a three-night gala in a few weeks," Donald informs us.

I don't have a reaction, but the guys do. Derrick looks excited, as does Garret. But Thomas and Richard, who've been here the longest, groan heavily, and Victor actually raises his hand and says, "I'll be sick that week."

Donald rolls his eyes. "Here's what we are going to do. I'm goin' to start figuring out what we'll need to do over the next couple weeks, but we're gonna have to make sure that this place is cleaner than the Princess' bathroom. So whenever you've got a free second, it'd better be spent makin' this place beautiful. When I have some more specific details, I'll let you guys know."

A gala? The thought runs through my head as I lie in bed that night. Are we going to be trained to deal with carriages? How are we going to fit more horses into the stables? We only have so many stalls. Am I going to have to deal with snooty people? Probably.

Over the next couple weeks, our lives get more complicated. Donald is taking his "clean the stables" plan very, very seriously, and while I felt that the stables were clean enough before, I was apparently gravely mistaken. I constantly am scrubbing the floors to clean off dirt that I can't even see.

Donald gets an estimate for the number of horses we're going to be housing during those few days, and one morning, we all wake up to find that temporary stalls have been set up in the corrals. We spend the whole day moving as many horses as possible to these new stalls, and also cleaning out their now vacant ones inside. Soon, the only horses remaining in the stables themselves are the Royal horses, and a few other horses belonging to prominent persons.

One morning, I'm ambushed by a middle-aged woman while I'm trying to work. After a few confusing minutes, and several uncomfortable ones, she leaves me alone, and a couple days later, I find a lumpy package in my cubby. Inside is the new livery that I was measured for. While men's livery is fine for everyday work, it's important that I look professional while handling horses for the gala. Now, I have livery that will actually fit me properly, even though I've been working here for months. Eh, I don't mind the men's livery, though. It's not uncomfortable; it just hangs off of me or clings in the wrong places.

I'm exhausted from preparing for the gala, but I feel an energetic excitement when Link finally returns, a few days before the gala is set to start. He seems a little out of it, although still happy to see me. "What's with all the empty stalls?" he asks as I get Epona settled. She's one of the few horses important enough to get to remain inside for the gala.

"Gala," I reply.

"What gala?"

I turn to him. He looks genuinely confused. "The King's having a gala this weekend."

Link rolls his eyes and groans. "I should have waited another week before coming back, then."

"What, you don't like parties?" I ask, laughing.

He scratches the back of his head. "It's not that," he says. "Are you free at all to talk?"

I shake my head. "No, but you can hang around while I'm working."

"All right," he says, nodding. "Nah, I don't dislike parties. But every time the King has a ball or gala or something, I always end up being ambushed by every single girl there is."

I laugh. "And that's a terrible thing?"

"How would you like it if you were trying to have a good time, and guys kept pestering you to dance with them, or they fought over you, or they just wouldn't give you a second alone?"

"I guess I can understand that," I say, shuddering as I imagine men's hands grabbing for me. It's not a good thought. "Then don't go. Duh."

"Nah, the King's going to make me. I just know it."

"Why would he _make _you go?" I ask as I grab a broom. "He can't _make_ you go. Besides, it's not like it's a party in your honor or something."  
"I know, I know. It's more complicated than that."

"Then please enlighten me."

"All right," he says. "This is going to sound weird, but who I marry is important."

"Hey, now," I interrupt. "It's a party, not a wedding."

"Let me explain," he snaps. "Look, if I marry someone who lives here, in the castle, I'll live here in the castle. If I marry someone who lives in Kakariko, I'll live there. Make sense?"

"Yeah, it makes sense. But what does it matter where you live?" I'm not sure I understand his frustration.

"Well, it gets bigger. What if I marry someone who isn't from Hyrule?"

"Well, she could move here."

"Not if she were an important person in her own country."

"What are you getting at?"

He sighs. "The King wants me to get married to someone who lives as close to the castle as possible. That way, I'll be close by if he needs anything, or my wife and I could live in the castle. But if I marry someone who's not from this country, I might live outside of Hyrule."

I roll my eyes. "You'll live wherever you want to. Who cares?"

"Royalty cares," he says darkly. "Right now, there are at least five foreign princesses who are excited about coming to the gala because they want to marry me. Their parents want me to marry their daughters because then they would get me, you know?"

"Get you?" I ask, confused. "How would they get you?"

"The things I do," he says, trying to explain. "I'm not leaving the castle all the time to go shopping or something. I'm out doing things, most of which are to help Hyrule. Other rulers want me to do that for _their _countries."

"Oh," I say softly. Hm, now I can kind of see what he's talking about. "Well, that's only a few women who'll be there, right?"

"No," he sighs. "The same pretty much goes for any foreign nobility. They want me to marry their daughters so they can suck up to their rulers. And everyone else just wants to marry me because then they'd be married to me."

I laugh. "I don't give a flying fuck if you're famous, remember?"

"Right, and you're the only one," he chuckles. He pauses for a moment. "Hey, you should come with me!"

"No way," I tell him sharply.

"Why not?" He sounds hurt.

"I …" I begin. But I'm not sure what to say. "Well, it's not my kind of thing," I say lamely. "Besides, I'm working. Donald's been going crazy over the gala."

"Don't you have that night off you can take?"

"That's only for one night," I say. "Not all three."

"Look, Dahlia, please be my date for this thing. If you need dresses or shoes or anything, I can get them for you, and I'll talk to Donald, or even the King if you need me to help you get time off."

"Yeesh!" I exclaim. I stop my sweeping and turn to him. His facial expression surprises me. He looks truly desperate and upset, and I feel shame wash over me. "Look, I'll talk to Donald."

He smiles with relief. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he says quickly. "Do you need dresses or anything? I _will_ get them for you."

"Well, I have dresses, but I don't have any shoes," I admit. "But what if Donald says no?"

He shrugs. "Don't worry about that. I'll get you a pair of shoes, and if you can't go, then you have new shoes, so whatever."

I laugh and give him my shoe size. Now, I just have to ask my stressed out boss for a few nights off.

Before I have a chance to ask him privately, Donald calls us all for a meeting.

"All right, here's how this is going to work. We're going to do this in six hour shifts, from six am or pm to twelve pm or am, respectively. We're going to split into two groups. While one group is workin', the other group will be eatin', sleeping' whatever. It's a lot of free time, I know, but we're only gonna be having three of you workin' at a time, so it's goin' to be a lot of work for those who are actually up and runnin'. I'll be helping out sometimes and checking in during other times. You need to be ready to go by the time your shift starts, so if your shift starts at noon, you should be starting to work at noon on the friggin' dot, not getting dressed at noon.

"Now, Derrick and Richard, since you've requested to go to the gala, I'mma have you work the twelve o'clock shifts. This means that you need to be ready to go by midnight and noon, so even though the damn gala will be going later than midnight, you're just going to have to leave early."

"Donald?" I interrupt.

"Dahlia, wait until I'm done; I might answer your question while I talk."

"No, it's just that I've been invited to the gala, too," I spurt, embarrassed that I've had to say so in front of the guys.

"Oh, all right," Donald replies. "All right, then you're going to be on the twelve o'clock shift as well. Thomas, Victor, Garret, do any of you object to working the six o'clock shift?" None of them do.

But they do speak up after Donald leaves, and we go back to work. "So, who invited you, Dahlia?" asks Richard with a grin.

"Who cares?" I say defensively. "It's not a big deal."

"Well, I'm going with a cute chick I met when she visited the stables last week," Richard says smugly. "If things work out, I might take a page out of Derrick's book and have her visit on my night shift."

"You're going with your girlfriend, right?" Thomas asks Derrick, who nods quietly.

"I bet Dahlia's going with the Captain," Victor says with a smile.

"So what?" I ask defensively. I feel bile rise in my throat.

"Relax, Dahlia," Garret says, laughing. "It's just good to see you get out for a change."

"You never take a day off," Thomas adds. "This will be good for you."

"Sure," I reply skeptically, unsure of just how a gala could be good for me. Or, for that matter, how working so hard and often could be _bad _for me.

That evening, as we head in for dinner, there's a wrapped box in my cubby. I throw it onto my bed before dinner; I can tell, based on shaking it, that it contains my shoes. They can wait until after I'm fed and watered.

While the guys are showering, I change into night clothes and open the box. I realize, before I open the lid, that Link never asked me what color my dresses were. Hell, I don't even remember what color they are; I haven't checked in a while. I just hope the shoes match.

Oh, wow. These shoes are too nice for me. They're a soft, pearly white, with a low, comfortable heel, and just the smallest amount of beading and embroidery. It's just enough to make them beautiful, not plain, but not so much that the shoes are too busy or ornate.

I quickly lift them out of the box, although I shortly realize that my feet are probably too dirty to try them on right now. I'll have to wait until after I've showered, ugh. But that's when I see that there's something else in the box.

It's a smaller, flat box, wrapped in white paper, and there's a small slip of paper tied to it. I untie the slip and read it:

_Consider the shoes a gift for taking such good care of Epona. This other thing is your birthday present._

_Link_

Oh, shit. He got me a birthday present. I thought I made it clear that I didn't care about him missing my birthday. But he obviously wouldn't be swayed. I might as well open the damn thing. I rip off the paper and carefully pull off the lid.

Inside, sitting on soft cotton, is a silver filigree horse pin.

"Holy shit," I whisper. There's no one here to hear me. How on earth did he even manage to afford something like this? The small horse is in a graceful gallop, frozen in time and silver. I'm afraid to touch something this delicate; the mane and tail are made of such fine silver that I think they'll snap off if there's even a light breeze.

It's the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.

Suddenly, the guys are back, and I quickly and carefully close the box and put it in the drawer with my dresses and necklace. Soon, the lights are out, and there's a tiny silver horse dancing in my head.

* * *

Yes, it's been a million years since I've updated. However, I think I've found a better direction for this story, which is a very good thing. Before uploading tonight, I found a Word document that I had written up with the plans for this story, and trust me ... the story I had originally planned is totally bull compared to the one that I've now been working on. For serious.

Please review, and if you enjoy what you read, please 1) try my other stories, and/or 2) recommend me to friends. If you don't enjoy what you read, send me a message. While I do sometimes find that some people just don't like the pairing or the topics that I pick, as well as some other things that have more to do with personal preference than actual writing, I DO appreciate constructive criticism, and many time I have incorporated it into my writing.


	8. In which my hair clashes with my outfit

I nervously check the clock that sits above the doorway into the castle. Shit, has it been stuck at 5:54 for the past hour or something?

"Clock-watching?" asks Derrick with a smile.

"Oh, don't worry," I tell him. "You'll know when it's six o'clock."

He chuckles, but I know that he's just as anxious for our shift to end as I am. The gala starts at half past six, and both of us, and Richard, need to take showers. We've agreed that I can go first, so long as I go quickly; I need more time for my hair to dry than they do.

"Time has fucking stopped," I say as I lean into Epona's stall.

You've been busy, at least, she points out.

She's right. Derrick, Richard, and I have been running around this afternoon, bringing horses to stalls, remembering to stick temporary cards on the doors so we remember which horses are in which stalls, and who owns them. We're not in charge of carriages, and so the coachmen have to unhitch horses and bring them to us. So far, it's been really stressful, especially since there are only three of us.

My new livery feels great, though. While my normal livery has never bothered me, I think it was because I didn't know that other clothing could, you know, fit better. I have much more flexibility than before, and nothing's, you know, bunching. I don't have a mirror to check, but I'm sure I look better, too.

"Dahlia, we've got another one," Richard calls out to me, and I hurry to the entrance to grab the next horse. "Names and owner, on these cards, please," I say for the millionth time as I hand the coachman some cards and pencil. I take the reins of two beautiful, glossy black stallions as he jots the information down for me. He hands the cards and pencil back, and I unceremoniously grab them from him with a hand that holds reins. "All right, come on, boys," I say as I lead them into the stables. A coachman and a footman are coming up to the stable as this one is leaving. "Derrick and Richard, we've got four horses coming up," I say as I bring the stallions in.

"Dahlia, hurry up, it's six!" says Garret. I realize that we've switched shifts already. Crap!

"Take these guys, okay?" I say quickly, and before he can protest, Garret is suddenly holding the reins and the horses' cards. But I don't have time to apologize.

I grab my towel and pull off everything except my underwear before I run to the bathroom, but when I open the door, Derrick and Richard are already in the shower. "Shit, Dahlia!"

"Fuck it, you guys," I say. I don't care if they see anything. I just really don't want to be late because I had to wait for two slowpokes to take a shower. I quickly throw my towel onto a hook and pull off my underwear.

"Holy crap," says Richard. "Dahlia, what are you doing?"

"You guys couldn't even wait five minutes for me to take a shower," I point out. "So don't give me any crap for being in a hurry."

"Good point," says Derrick. And so we all shower quickly and thoroughly. I try not to look below the waist, and if either of the guys sees anything, they don't mention it. I'm trying to surpass my usual standard of clean, since I usually still smell like horses even after I shower. Between the three of us, we are probably washing a corral's worth of mud down the drain. At one point, we agree to wash each other's backs on the condition that we never speak of it ever again.

We rush back to our common room and quickly put on clean underwear. I wipe my feet off thoroughly and slip them into my new shoes. I don't want to get _any_ dirt in them; they're too pretty. They're too nice. Ugh, why did he buy these for me? They're just going to get dirty.

When I went to sleep last night, I pulled out a dress and hung it up as best I could on the dresser. Thankfully, it's straightened out a bit, and there aren't too many wrinkles in the fabric. But I frown; it's not going to match my necklace, or the beautiful pin Link gave me. I pull out another dress; this one will match, but it's too wrinkly. Ugh, I'll have to hang it up now so I can wear it tomorrow, I suppose. I quickly put my hair up in my towel to try to get as much moisture out as possible. I mean, it'll probably still be wet when I leave, so I will have to put it up. But I'd like it to be as dry as possible.

"Hurry up, Dahlia," says Richard. We agreed we'd go together, but they're almost ready, and I'm still in my underwear. And shoes and a towel, of course.

"This is why I hate my hair," I grumble. I remove the towel and use it to try to squeeze out as much water as I can. Now, my hair is just damp. I quickly brush it and try to put it up in the nicest way I can think of. "Does this look okay?" I ask. When the guys shrug, I lose it a little bit. "Does this look okay?" I repeat, my voice rising an octave.

They take the hint. "Yeah, it looks great!" says Richard.

"Yeah, totally!" says Derrick. "Here, let me just do this." He walks over to me and starts playing with my hair. I don't like that he's touching me, but hey, it's for a good cause.

"There, much better," he says, stepping back to admire his work.

"Definitely," Richard agrees.

"If you fucked up my hair on purpose so that people will laugh at me, I will hunt you down and kill you," I remind Derrick.

"I know," he stammers. "It looks good, though!"

"Thanks," I say. Now, I just have to pull this dress on, and we can get out of here.

It's a little too puffy for my tastes, although it doesn't look too silly. It's just something I never would have picked if the attic hadn't been dark. The bodice, which to my relief actually fits me, is a sleeveless corset, and below my tapered waist, the tulle skirt puffs out a little. It's a bit scratchy, but luckily there's plain silk underneath it. The whole dress is a pale orange, and the tulle has some gold in it, which seems to sparkle. I thought that I just couldn't wear silver jewelry with this dress, but now I'm not even sure my hair will match it. How did Mom manage to look good in this color?

"Help me fasten this?" I ask, and Richard is behind me, doing the last couple of buttons. His knuckle touches my back briefly, and I shiver.

"Are we good?" Derrick asks nervously.

"Yeah," I reply. I don't know if it's just the corset or not, but I've lost my breath.

"Then let's go."

We follow the hallway, past the bathroom, and through the same door that Link had to point out to me on our way to the hospital wing. But after that doorway, and down the hallway, we take a right instead of a left. Derrick opens one more door, and we're suddenly in a place that's much too bright after those hallways.

"Oh, wow," I whisper. We're in the foyer, which is full of white light, velvet, and well-dressed people. It appears this is also where people are meeting their dates, if they didn't arrive together. Derrick spots his girlfriend and disappears into the crowd.

"So," Richard says slowly, "I guess this is the time where you find out if the Captain was just joking about you being his date?"

"What?" I ask, unsure of what he's saying. I know he's doing one of his mean jokes, but what?

"I mean, if he stands you up or not," he clarifies. Yeah, he could have executed that one better. I raise my eyebrows at him, and the red in his face indicates that he knows he can't recover from that one.

"Who's going to stand her up?" Link asks.

Oh! "Where did you come from?" I ask stupidly. I hadn't been _that _distracted by Richard.

"I was hiding from some of those annoying women I told you about," he admits. "So I was in the corner over there." He points to a pillar that has a plant in front of it. "Anyway, are you ready to go in?"

"Uh, yes," I say, and I can hear my heart beating in my ears.

"You look absolutely incredible, by the way," he tells me as we walk.

My face heats up. "You're just saying that."

"No, you do," he insists. "Did you get my present, though?"

"Oh, yes!" I say enthusiastically. "It's absolutely beautiful, Link; I can't thank you enough for it."

"I'm glad," he says. "But why aren't you wearing it?"

"It wouldn't have matched this dress," I tell him. "But it will match the one I have for tomorrow, so don't worry. I'll wear it then." His face brightens; I guess he was really disappointed when he saw I wasn't wearing the pin.

We've sort of cut in front of people who were waiting in the foyer, but Link knows that I'm missing dinner, and so we're going to grab some of the hors d'oeuvres before too many people can get to them.

"So, how have things been since you got back?" I ask as we sit down at a table. I figure I should get him talking while I stuff my face.

"Eh, they've been okay," he replies. He begins to talk about the King being on his back about attending, and whatnot. I am listening, but not completely. He just looks so different tonight. I'm used to seeing him dressed for traveling, or naked and covered with a blanket. Tonight, he's wearing a suit, like all the other men. It's just so hard for me to think of him like that. I mean, he's Link, after all.

"How's the food?" he asks suddenly, when I happen to be in the middle of a mouthful.

"It's great," I say with food in my mouth (so it comes out, "Iss gwead"). I swallow quickly. "Sorry."

He laughs. "Better than what you get in the stables?"

"Sometimes, I think that the cooks think we're horses or something," I say thoughtfully. "I guess they assume that we normally eat hay, so anything better than that is gourmet."

"That blows," he says with a chuckle.

"Eh, it's not _bad_ food," I admit. "But hey, I'm glad I came tonight. This is great food."

"Well, I'm glad to know you came for the food," he replies. He's still smiling, though.

I don't want to resemble a pig for too long, and so I finish eating quickly. When I stand up and pick up my plate, looking for a place to put it, Link shakes his head and puts my plate back on the table. "There's no tub for dishes here," he says.

"So, what now?" I ask as we stand awkwardly near the table.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks, holding his arm out to the dance floor. There are already several couples dancing to music that wafts over the whole room from the small chamber group that sits off to one side.

I stiffen. "I can't dance," I say quickly. Let him think that I'm just nervous about dancing.

"Oh, that won't be a problem," he says. "You see, not only am I the worst dancer on the face of the planet, but I am also the worst at _learning_ to dance. Therefore, even if you suck at dancing, you will be able to pick it up so quickly that you will soon be much better than I am, and then we can just worry about me stepping on your toes." He pauses. "Did the shoes fit all right? I forgot to ask."

"They fit perfectly, thank you," I reply. "But they're not magic; they won't help me dance."

He laughs. "Come on, it'll be fun. And we can get near the center so no one can see us, all right?"

I look at him nervously. I can hardly bear it if he simply touches my hand. How am I supposed to handle it if he's got his arms around me? If our hands have to touch? With my shoulders completely bare? My neck exposed? And my jugular vein? Shit, I have problems.

"Please," he says, with sincerity. "I would really like to dance with you."

"All right," I say quietly. It's something that I did not intend to say; it simply slips from my mouth, unintended. This mistake has sealed my fate; Link takes me by the hand and leads me into the fray.

I force myself to resist the urge to bolt. My hand burns in its trap, but I know that Link will never forgive me for running from him right now. And once we're in the midst of so many dancing couples, there's no way I could run. I wouldn't be able to escape very quickly at least.

It's excruciating, and not because I can't dance. He's not a bad dancer himself; I think that his pep talk was for my benefit, and not entirely truthful. The pressure of his hand on my hip, the closeness of him … it clouds my mind. On the one hand, I want to run, but on the other, my mind is in a fog.

"So how has the stable been tonight?" he asks, bursting through the misty confusion.

"Horrible," I admit. "Idiot coachmen, horses that are temperamental as fuck, and just three of us to take care of everything." I pause. "I can swear at these kinds of parties, right?"

His laugh dissolves some of my discomfort. He's just my friend, Link. I can put up with him touching me. After all, it's _Link_. I mean … yeah.

"Link, there you are!" We are interrupted after a few dances. We turn to see who has spoken.

Oh, shit, it's the King.

I curtsey for him again, this time more easily. It's always easier to curtsey in a dress than in livery.

"Link, I'm glad you made the decision to attend tonight," the King says.

"Well, your Majesty, since you threatened to have me castrated if I didn't show up, I figured I didn't have much of a choice."

The King, to my surprise, just smiles. Geez, how does Link get away with saying stuff like this? How has he not been imprisoned or something?

"Now," the King continues, "were you planning on introducing me to your beautiful dance partner?"

I feel my face go bright red, which I know will make me clash even more with my orange gown.

"Your Majesty, this is Dahlia," Link says. "Don't you remember meeting her?

"Dahlia?" he asks. "Yes, that sounds familiar."

"I'm Epona's handler, your Majesty," I cut in. "I was in the hospital wing with Link when you came down in your pajamas."

"Oh!" the King says, surprised. Then _he_ blushes. I fucking made the fucking King blush. Fuck. "Well," he continues, "it's a pleasure to meet you again, this time more appropriately attired." He smiles, and I wonder if our monarch might be crazy. Hell, if I were a queen, people would not get away with comments about my pajamas. "Anyhow, I've got to go find Zelda. She's got about a hundred suitors pestering me about her hand in marriage, and I need her to make them go away and leave me alone."

"All right, have a fun time, your Majesty," Link says, grinning.

"Is our king some sort of crazy person?" I ask, once his Majesty is very much out of earshot.

"He's an odd-ball, but in a good way," Link says thoughtfully. "But he's pretty humble, so don't worry about the pajamas thing. Probably about half of the people here have seen the King in his pajamas."

It's my turn to laugh. "I don't want to know how that might have come about."

Soon, we head to some chairs so we can take a break. Link grabs some wine for himself, but water for me, since I'm going to be back on the job soon. But before we can even start a conversation, the vultures swoop in.

"Link!" cries a young blonde woman, dressed in the most lurid shade of yellow I've ever had the misfortune of seeing. Or hearing. Seriously, it's one of those yellows that can actually scream at you.

"Uh, hi, Priscilla," Link replies awkwardly. He does not stand when she scuttles over and tries to give him a hug.

"It's been too long, love," Priscilla purrs. "When are you going to come visit me again?" She forces her face into a pout.

"Well, I haven't needed your parents' help recently," Link says flatly. "I didn't want to tire my horse out to make an unnecessary trip."

She totally misses the tone and the hint. "Oh, aren't you the worst?" she giggles. "Come on, dance with me!"

"I'm sorry," Link says with false sadness. "But you see, I'm here with a date." He gestures to me, and I nearly choke on my water. I mean, I know this is why he brought me, but fuck, I didn't know that he'd be using the "date" excuse so early in the game.

This event repeats itself several times over the next thirty minutes, although most of the girls have much better fashion sense. By the time it's nine o'clock, I'm about ready to just scratch out the eyes of the next girl who comes by and doesn't take a hint.

"Let's dance again before someone tries to have sex with me right in this chair," Link says quickly, between ambushes. We rush to the dance floor so quickly that I almost lose a shoe.

I once again have to do my best to ignore my surging discomfort as Link touches me. But once again, I take it like the manly young woman I am, and we continue to dance.

"So, you lied to me," I tell him soon after we begin to dance again.

"And how's that?" he asks. His facial expression tells me that he's not sure if I'm joking or not.

"You said you suck at dancing," I say, grinning.

"Oh!" he says, laughing in relief. "Well, normally, I really do. I guess it's easier to do when I'm not trying to run away from my dance partner at the same time."

"So, do you really know all of these girls?" I'm afraid of the answer for some reason.

"Not really," he admits. "Some of them, I do know. I had the misfortune of meeting Priscilla last year when I had to visit her parents' manor for help. They had this …." He stops mid-sentence.

"What?" I ask, startled by the unanticipated ending. "What did they have?"

He sighs. "It's one of those things I can't tell you," he says sadly.

"It's fine," I say, trying to reassure him. I gently reach up and pat his shoulder, this time unable to halt the action. I find that it actually isn't that bad. Maybe I should have done it last time.

"Well, anyway," he says, trying to regain his enthusiasm, "I was there for maybe one night, and so now Priscilla thinks we're getting married or something."

"Creepy," I offer.

"But yeah, thanks for coming with me tonight," he tells me. "If you think _that_ was bad, just imagine what would have happened if you hadn't been here. I'd be stuck on this dance floor all night with those kinds of chicks."

"What about Zelda?" I ask. "If you're both trying to fend people off, why not just go together?"

He looks at me with a strange, unreadable expression. "Well, we just aren't interested in each other. It's, uh, complicated."

"How is it complicated?" I ask, but he clearly doesn't want to elaborate, and I drop the subject.

"I don't think I'll ever get married," he says absent-mindedly.

"Why not?" I ask. I then blush. "Sorry, that's a personal question."

"Nah," he says. "It's just that I'd have to settle down somewhere. And as you've seen since we've met, I don't settle so easily."

"True." He is always coming and going. I can see that most of these women are truly looking to "snag" him, in the way you'd snag a deer, bring it home, and devour it. There's really no difference, although maybe the devouring is metaphorical in this case.

"What about you?" he asks.

"What about me?" I ask back. I hate when people ask back questions, but it seemed to be an appropriate response.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" he clarifies.

"Oh." I honestly have never thought about it much. I mean, I sort of assumed I'd be married eventually, since so many people _do_ get married. But I haven't thought about when I'd get married, or what kind of person I'd be married to.

It might be hard to be married if it's this hard for me to even let Link dance with me. My wedding night would simply be a nightmare.

"I have no idea," I admit honestly, leaving out my intense thought process. He seems satisfied.

We stick together for the rest of the night, although several other women do try to steal him for a dance. Under different circumstances, I might encourage Link to take a dance with some of them. But I know he doesn't want to, and I also know that if I'm not dancing with Link, I'm inviting some unknown man to sneak up and whisk me off for an unknown number of songs. While it's incredibly uncomfortable, I'll allow Link to touch me, but if anyone else so much as tries to, I'll fucking kick him in the crotch.

I feel an unwelcome tap on my shoulder; it's Derrick. "Hey, I thought I'd let you know that it's eleven-thirty," he tells me.

"Oh, shit," I say. I turn to Link. "I have to start my shift soon. Will you be okay for the rest of the night?"

"Would you stay if I said no?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, so say yes," I reply.

"All right, I'll meet you in the same place tomorrow night," he says. And then, before I can prepare myself, he hugs me. I feel like an animal in a trap.

"Good night," I say quickly, pulling away. I follow Derrick off of the crowded dance floor. It's not until we reach the foyer that I realize just how stuffy the ballroom was. "Shit!" I hiss to Derrick. "Now I'm freezing!"

He laughs. "I know, it's a million fucking degrees in there."

"Where's Richard?"

"I don't care," he replies as we enter the cool hallways to get back to the stables. "I was looking for him before I found you. He's probably trying to get into someone's pants or something."

But Richard ends up making it back in time for our shift. Derrick and I have already started to get the early bird horses to their coachmen when Richard stumbles in, still dressed for the gala. "I'll fucking kill you guys if you tell Donald," he hisses. He changes quickly enough, though, that he's not really late. And besides, most people aren't going to leave until one or two, so the stables are pretty quiet anyway.

"Did you have fun with your girlfriend?" I ask Derrick as we brush down some of the guest horses.

"Yeah," he says, smiling boyishly. "I finally saved up enough to get a decent suit, so I was glad to be able to wear it, you know?"

"I know what you mean," I agree. "I'm glad to have an occasion to wear the dresses I brought with me."

"You looked great tonight, by the way," he tells me sincerely. "Like, really."

"You're just being nice," I tell him.

"No, really. We're not used to seeing you all dolled up or anything. It was nice. And the Captain had his eyes glued to you."

I smile in spite of myself.

* * *

Record for fastest update I've ever done. It's more interesting than doing my homework, so go figure. Now, pardon me whilst I put on my streetwalker outfit so I can look like the review whore I am.


	9. In which I am delayed

"What do you mean?" I ask the coachman. He's arrived at the stables with no horses in tow. I can see other coachmen with horses coming up the drive behind him; I need to get this guy out of the way so I can help the next person.

"Well, aren't you going to come down and unhitch the horses?" he asks me stupidly.

"No," I tell him flatly, crossing my arms over my chest. "You let your passengers out, you drive to the carriage lot, and you bring the horses up here."

"I've never had to do that anywhere else," he informs me, as if that will magically cause our rules to change. "Everywhere else, the stable hands take care of it."

"Sir, as you can see from the line forming behind you, that's not how we do it here," I point out. "The rules are the same as last night."

"My lady wasn't here last night," he explains.

"I see," I reply. "Well, those are the rules tonight, too. So, please go drive your carriage to the appropriate lot and lead the horses up here."

"But that's—"

"Sir, if you require assistance in unhitching your horses, please ask another coachman for help," I say sternly. "Now, please, I need to help the next person."

As he storms off unhappily, I take the next pair of horses. As I'm waiting for the coachman to fill out the name cards, Thomas comes up to take the next group of horses.

"Wait, what time is it?" I ask, knowing that it's going to be after six.

"Ten past," Thomas informs me. "I would have told you, but I had to help Garret with an obnoxious stallion, and Donald just told me that Victor's coming in late."

"Oh, geez," I sigh. The coachman hands me back the cards, and I thank him. "Is Victor okay?" I ask as I start to lead the horses into the stables.

"He's okay, yeah," Thomas replies. "His grandmother was sick, and he had to go into the city to take care of her for a bit while his parents went to get her some medicine. He should be here soon."

"Okay, that's good," I say. As much as I hate being late, I'm glad to hear that Victor's grandmother is getting her medicine.

I get my two guests settled in quickly enough, but as I'm striding towards the bathroom to take a well-deserved shower, Garret calls for me. "I need help with this guy!" he tells me, and moments later, I'm dealing with a stallion who is convinced that the hay we use is going to make him sick. It takes me a very stressful fifteen minutes to get him to calm down; it doesn't help that I'm already upset that I'm late. Finally, he realizes that he's being an idiot, and I can finally start getting ready.

It's harder to get clean without the guys there to wash my back, but hey, that's one less embarrassing experience, right? I scrub down as best I can before rushing back to the bedroom. This time, I barely have time to put up my still very wet hair and throw on my dress before I run back to the hallway. Naturally, I take a wrong turn. Why the hell do I lose my sense of direction when I'm stressed?

Finally, I open a door to find myself back in the foyer. It's busier than it was last night; people have been arriving fashionably late, I suppose. I look towards where Link was last night … but he's nowhere in sight. I sigh heavily. I guess he didn't feel like waiting.

I glance around, but all I can see are brightly colored dresses. Maybe I should just go back. At least I could grab dinner and rest, right? Yeah, that might be the best idea. This gala is not for stable hands with wet hair.

"There you are!" I nearly leap out of my shoes at the voice behind me. Link emerges from the very door I arrived through. "I went down to the stables to see if you were there," he explains. "Is everything okay? One of the stable hands told me you'd been running late."

I sigh in relief. Why relief? I'm not so sure. "Some idiot coachman whose employer wasn't here last night didn't understand the ropes," I explain. "And then I had to calm down a crazy stallion who thought our hay was poisonous."

Link laughs. "How do you know the stallion thought exactly that?" he asks.

I feel sick as my heart skips a beat; I'd rather not explain that I'm a crazy person who can sort of talk to horses. "Well, that's what it seemed like from the way he was acting. Anyway, he's fine now, and I'm finally here." I pause. "I'm really sorry I kept you waiting."

"It's fine," he says quickly. "Now, let's get us some food, shall we?" He smiles, and I feel warm, even compared to the heat of the foyer.

The line for food is much longer tonight than last night, but it's considerably later in the evening. Now, thanks to my tardiness, we have to wait a good fifteen minutes before we can grab plates and sample the delicious food of the buffet. "I'm still sorry that I'm so late," I say again as we gaze forlornly at the food that will be out of reach for a little longer.

"It's all right," he replies. "I was just worried you were ditching me."

"If I had decided not to come, I would have told you," I say seriously. It's true; I don't think it would be very fair of me to just not show up without explanation. I would hate to be sitting around, waiting foolishly for someone who isn't coming.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind." We're finally close enough to the beginning of the buffet to grab plates. "I skipped dinner tonight because I knew I'd be eating with you. I don't mean to offend you when I say I wish I hadn't skipped it."

"It's fine," I say. I feel badly, though. I mean, first, I'm so late that he thinks I'm not going to show up. And then he skips dinner, thinking he'll be eating right away, and now has to wait in line with a rumbling stomach. And to top it all off, I've shown up with soaking wet hair, and I've forgotten to wear the beautiful gift that he gave me. How can he not be annoyed with me? Maybe, a little corner of my mind says, maybe I should find a way to show him that I'm sorry, that I am furious that I wasn't here on time, and that I'm frustrated with myself for forgetting to wear the pin.

Finally, _finally_, we're able to start grabbing food and filling our plates. While I'm considerably hungry, I know that I won't be able to eat as much as my stomach thinks I can. Link, however, is piling food onto his plate; there's a small mountain there already, and he's very expertly adding more food in any way he can. How is all that even going to fit inside his _body?_

We can't find an empty table, which is disappointing; I don't really want to make conversation with strangers tonight. But there are enough empty seats at the table we choose that we can leave seats between us and the other guests. With chairs separating us from them, it feels as if we have some privacy, if not very much of it.

The problem now, though, is that Link has much more food than I do, and so I'm finished well before he's even made a dent in his Mt. Dinner. I know I have to talk; I'll be mistaken for mentally ill if I just stare at him quietly while he eats.

"So, yeah," I begin lamely. "I'm still sorry that I was so late tonight. I want to make it up to you."

He smiles and swallows his current mouthful. "Well, I'm not upset with you, but when someone says they want to make it up to you, it's not polite to refuse."

I smile. "So, is there anything in mind I can do?" I quickly add, "Besides wearing the pin. I will wear it tomorrow, I swear."

"Don't swear," he warns. "I don't want you to promise and then feel bad if something comes up."

"But I will wear it," I insist. "I want to."

"Well, then I look forward to seeing you wear it," he says, and then he goes back to work on his dinner.

But I was planning on wearing the pin anyway. I don't think it's enough to just wear it tomorrow night. I _should_ have worn it tonight, and so it's not really making it up to him. I need to offer something additional, something he hadn't asked for.

"I still have a night off I can use," I say suddenly. He looks up at me, chewing. "I'll use it tomorrow night. That way, I'll be able to stay the whole time to protect you."

He swallows. "You don't have to do that," he says. "I mean, I can always leave early after you go, and you might want to save your night off for something else."

I smile and laugh a little. "You said it yourself: I shouldn't keep putting it off until it's too late. And besides, I want to do it. It'll be fun."

He shrugs. "Well, I won't stop you." But he's smiling.

He finishes his dinner more quickly than I anticipated. While he does require more time to eat than I do, he doesn't need that much more. And after another minute or so, and a couple drinks (for him), we're heading out to the dance floor.

We start on the edge this time, since it's much too crowded to get to the center without significant effort. I can't help but feel greatly exposed, though, as if someone is hunting me from the sidelines. But as we dance, we make our way a little farther into the swarm of couples, and I feel a little safer.

"You look great, by the way," he mentions absent-mindedly after a few minutes.

"You're lying," I reply. I become more aware of the heavy weight of my damp hair.

"Is there any way I could convince you I'm not lying?" he asks curiously.

I laugh, but I don't answer. I don't want to answer. I don't think he's lying, but I don't think I look great either. The only explanation is that he thinks I look great even though I don't. My heart thumps uncomfortably against the walls of my chest; it does nothing to distract me from the terrible feeling of Link touching me.

Soon, after more idle conversation, we stop to sit and drink. Link had wine earlier, but now he's switched to water, which is what I've been drinking. I need a clear head for when I get back to work later tonight. And as we try to relax, the parade of fawning women comes our way.

"Just one dance?" asks a very pretty brunette with a strong Labrynnan accent.

"But she was your date _last_ night!" a rather young one whines.

"My father hopes you'll visit soon, as do I," coos a statuesque Holodrumite.

And Link sticks to his story: he'd love to dance, but he's here with a date.

There's a lull in the action, finally. "How have you not murdered someone yet?" I ask him quietly.

"I don't know," he replies. "I figure a jury would deem my actions justified, but I just can't bring myself to do it."

"Link!"

We turn to see Priscilla approaching us, wearing a gown of the most lurid blue I've ever seen. I resist the incredibly tempting urge to roll my eyes.

"Er, hi, Priscilla," Link says awkwardly.

"Link, dear, you simply must dance with me," she informs him, smiling. "I know you've been refusing to dance with anyone else."

"Actually, I'm not dancing with anyone except my date," Link clarifies. "It would be unfair of me to make an exception for you."

And then Priscilla laughs, her voice a bit high. "Link, I find it hard to believe you'd rather dance with some wet-haired, bedraggled nobody than with me, or anyone else here, for that matter."

In the oppressive, smelly heat of the ballroom, my body goes cold, and the back of my neck, where my wet hair rests lightly, feels sticky. As much as I've never had that much self-esteem, I can't even stand to sit here in this long moment. Time feels as slow as molasses as I quickly stand up to find the closest window, so I can breathe.

I don't find a window; instead, I find an empty balcony off of the ballroom. As the playful bite of October air makes me shiver, I shake back into reality.

How could I have taken such a comment to heart? I know Priscilla's as fake as they come, and I should know better than to take anything she says seriously. Why can't I be like Link and just brush it off?

Why can't I brush _anything_ off? Did everyone else but me learn how to do that at some crucial stage in life?

Everyone except a wet-haired, bedraggled nobody? Why do I even care so much?

"There you are." I jump, not immediately recognizing Link's voice as I'm lost in my thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asks, knowing that I'm not. I wonder why people ask that question when they know the answer. I reply by simply crossing my arms over my chest, hugging myself, and surveying the gardens below. But my eyes don't really register what I'm seeing; I'm too distracted.

And then there's warmth, all around me, shielding me from the nipping cold. It's the most welcome warmth I've felt in my life, or in years at the very least. The warmth offers everything to me: love, protection, home, freedom. I lean into it with a sigh.

"Priscilla, as you already know, has no fucking clue what she's talking about," Link reassures me. "She's just jealous that I'm only paying attention to you, and that you're too beautiful for her to even compete with."

"I'm not beautiful," I inform him.

"Yes, you are," he says, annoyed. "You look like a moonbeam or something in that dress."

He's referring to the silvery-blue lamé dress I had set out for tonight, with the low neckline, skinny straps, and slinky skirt. I'm a bit pleased that he's compared me to a moonbeam; I thought I looked more like an eel.

And then the warmth tightens around me. "You know, we can dance out here if you want to," Link tells me. And that's when I realize that the warmth is his arms around me, and his body behind me.

And I didn't flinch once. I didn't feel sick. I didn't bolt.

Something's different.

"All right," I tell him, feeling that those words, for the first time, might be true.

We try dancing for a while out on the balcony, but it's getting a little too chilly for me, and it's too hard to hear the music. After many a minute or two, we finally laugh and decide that we need to go back inside.

Priscilla is nowhere to be seen, and I wonder if Link maybe said something to her while I stormed off. We move back onto the dance floor, into the uncomfortable crush of bodies. I'm disappointed to find that I'm still not quite at ease in Link's arms as we dance, even though I certainly was out on the balcony. Ugh, sometimes I wonder if I need some sort of manual to show me how my mind and my body work. Then, I could finally understand how to make myself feel relaxed and calm when touched by others. Or by Link, at the very least. But I suppose that the feeling isn't as terrible as it's been in the past. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but if it is just wishful thinking, then wishful thinking works.

* * *

I updated, whaaaaat? I'm not finished with the entire story, but I no longer need to go back and edit this chapter in particular, so the show may go on. The _next_ chapter might require editing, though, but I hit a breakthrough this week, and so maybe the entire rest of the story will be up by next weekend. Chag sameach, everyone.


	10. In which it's not a fair trade

"What time is it?" I ask casually.

"For the millionth time, it's not six," says Derrick, who tosses me a bag of oats. Some of the gala guests have been staying overnight, and they must all spoil their horses; we have never gone through oats this quickly.

"Sorry," I snap back. Some of the oats spill out of the bag, but fortunately, they spill onto the closet floor, which we don't have to keep clean.

"I'm not a human clock, okay?" he points out.

I was anxious two nights ago. I was anxious last night. So, why am I totally flying off the handle today? Eventually, it will be six, and I can leave. Bothering Derrick and Richard about the time isn't going to speed anything up.

Of course, from the way I've been acting, it definitely seems as if I think that.

Maybe it has to do with what happened last night with Link. Not the boring gala bullshit, but what happened on the balcony. Why didn't I freak out? And why didn't it last? One moment, I'm melting into his arms, and then the next, when we're doing something decidedly less intimate, I have trouble again.

I keep thinking I should talk to someone about this. But who would I talk to? Who would even listen? Besides, this isn't a normal problem, or at least not one I've ever heard of before. I doubt anyone else has either.

Epona is restless, too, but it's for a completely different reason. There's a stallion right next to her stall who keeps hitting on her. He's very noisy; I can hear him snorting and softly neighing through the wall between them. And every time he passes Epona's stall, he starts prancing briefly. I've tried talking to him, but it's hard to find privacy with two of the guys always around. So far, the stallion keeps insisting that he's not doing anything.

I'd ask Donald if we could just move the stallion to another stall, but it's just one more night anyway.

Poor Epona. Poor me. Poor us.

I make my way around the stalls until the bag of oats is empty, and I glance wearily at the clock: 3:56. We will be here forever.

"At least we're over halfway through," Richard says as he wheels a cart of dirty straw past me. "Or that's what I keep telling myself."

"Do you think Donald would notice if I changed the clock?" I ask unenthusiastically.

A few minutes later, we're finished with our extensive list of chores, and it's still another hour before the fashionably (or ridiculously) early arrive. Donald has sort of floated onto a twelve hour, six pm to am schedule, since those back-to-back shifts are always the busiest, and we never seem to need him otherwise. We're okay with it, since it means we have time to relax before guests begin to arrive. We're sitting close to the entrance, though, in case someone comes along.

"So, you're screwing over Thomas tonight?" asks Derrick, smiling wickedly. Richard laughs.

"It's only fair," I say with a shrug. "Have you ever done two night shifts in a row?" They shake their heads. "It was really not very fun. I might be understanding if Thomas had actually had a family emergency, but a party with friends? Why can't he take the night off when he's _not_ on the night shift?"

Richard laughs. "And didn't you get shoved in the mud that day, too?"

"Ugh, I'd forgotten about that," I say, a blush rising to my cheeks. "And that happened to be one of the nights Link showed up. Why does he always show up when I need a shower?"

To my surprise, the guys smirk at each other.

"What?" I ask. "What's so funny?" They shrug at me, but after I kick Richard lightly in the shins, he relents.

"Well, Link shows up during the night shift a lot," he explains. "We used to all see him every so often on our different shifts. But since he bumped into you on yours, he's seen you on your night shift more than he's seen us on all of ours combined."

Derrick can't hold in his laugh any longer, but it's not ridiculing. "We think he memorized the order of the night shifts so he could show up when you're on."

"That's ridiculous," I point out, not sure whether I'm embarrassed or pleased. "The second time he showed up on my night shift, he was in really, really bad shape. I doubt he was planning to arrive on my shift; I think he _had_ to."

"Hey, hey, it's just a theory," Derrick points out, holding his hands up defensively. The subject is dropped, although only from the conversation, not my thoughts. The discussion switches to more mundane and silly things.

"What the hell are you lazy asses doin'?" We look up, startled, to find Donald glaring at us from the entrance to the castle.

"We were just taking a short break!" Richard says too quickly.

"Right, and I haven't worked here for thirty years," Donald scoffs. "Get back to work!"

Soon enough, it's six o'clock.

This time, the guys politely wait for me to shower, since my hair needs much more time to dry. I'm not leaving with them, though. By the time they're out the door, ready to meet with their dates, my hair is still up in my towel, and I'm sitting around in my underwear, waiting.

Link knows I'm arriving later than usual, so I'm sure he's eaten already. It'll just be like the first night where I ate and he talked. It doesn't matter; I eat quickly anyway.

Every few minutes, I unwrap my wet towel, shake out my hair, brush it, and blot it with the towel again. After a short while, I switch to my reserve towel, which is a lot drier than the first. I sigh; maybe after tonight, I should just cut my hair short like the guys do so my hair dries quickly.

By the time my hair is dry enough for me to feel satisfied, it's almost seven. I keep telling myself to stop rushing, but I can't help but get ready as quickly as I can, just like I have the past two nights. My hands tremble as I fasten my necklace.

And then I stupidly hold the brooch that Link gave me. I promised to wear it, but where should I? The fabric of my last dress is so fine that if I poke a hole in it, the hole will be visible forever. As much as I want to wear this exquisite piece of jewelry, I don't think I can bring myself to mar my mother's dress.

Finally, I just pull my hair into a nice looking style and carefully secure the brooch on the side of my head, near the back. There; it's tasteful and visible, but I don't have to ruin anything.

And now there's nothing else to do.

I take a deep breath and head down the hall. The multitude of tiny stones on my skirts scatter what little light there is and create strange patterns on the stone walls.

In the bright heat of the foyer, I glance around for Link; he's not near the doorway like he said; we were supposed to meet there so we could (like responsible adults) cut in line for the buffet. It's hard to tell in the crush of people and finery whether he's just on the opposite side of the human river, but I'm fairly certain I would see him. I must look lost and unimportant; people keep pushing around me.

"Excuse me," says yet another young man as he struggles to get in front of me. I sigh as I acquiesce. He looks back as he apologizes; it's Link.

"Whoa!" I say, annoyed. "You're polite tonight."

"Goddesses!" he replies. "Dahlia, I totally didn't recognize you!"

"Even with this?" I ask, and I point to the brooch on the side of my head; he passed it while pushing by me.

"Oh, hey!" he says, smiling. "That's a really great way to wear it!" He seems slightly drunk; has he already had a couple glasses of wine? "If I had known you'd wear it like that, I would have asked the jeweler to make it a hair pin instead."

"You had this custom made?" I ask incredulously. Hell, a piece like this would be almost unaffordable just to purchase it already made. How much had it cost him to have it made to order?

He waves his hand dismissively. "The guy owes me at least three or four more favors, so don't give me that look."

"All right," I say, trying to accept that he still gave me such a priceless gift. "Shall we cut in line?"

"Yes, let's," he says firmly, and he takes my arm in his before unceremoniously pushing through the crowd. I feel as if I'm caught in a trap, but I remind myself that there's food in it for me if I just suck it up.

We manage to get close to the head of the line before people start to catch on that we're cutting, and not simply trying to get into the ballroom. Heh, suckers. My question of whether or not Link had eaten earlier is answered when he leaves the buffet proudly carrying another Mt. Dinner on his plate. I feel a small blush when I realize that he hasn't eaten, which just leaves me confused.

Dinner consists of boring conversation regarding the stables; since I have less food, I'm stuck with the task of talking as much as possible. So I just detail how I got back at Thomas for screwing me over with two night shifts. When I mention that I'm sick of how long my hair takes to dry, and how I'm considering a short hair cut, however, Link swallows his mouthful and looks at me with alarm.

"What?" I ask.

"You want to cut your hair short?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah."

"As short as the guys'?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So, a boy's hair cut?"

"Link, is there a point to this?"

"Well, yeah," he says forcefully, but then his face turns sheepish. "Well, I guess I just think your hair is really pretty."

"Well, right now, it's clean, and there's a gift from you sitting in it," I point out. "You can't honestly say it looks pretty when it's chock full of straw, dirt, grease, mud, and what probably is manure. And when it's wet, it makes my neck sticky." I blush a little; that last admission sounds awkward now that I've voiced it.

"I've always thought you were pretty," Link says, and while I expect him to smirk, he's not; he's not even smiling.

"All right," I say quickly, sensing the seriousness. "I'll think about keeping it long."

After we finish eating our meal, we move to the dance floor automatically. I brace myself for the usual discomfort, and I'm disappointed to find that it's still present. I had hoped for this one last night that we could dance without me trying to bolt at the same time.

"So, you can stay the whole night, right?" Link says.

"For the hundredth time," I sigh. "I can stay as late as I want."

"Just checking," he says defensively. "It's just been so very Cinderella recently, with you having to run out before midnight every night."

"Well, that carriage can be a pain in the ass when I'm late and it's turning back into a pumpkin," I admit. I'm happy to see that he's smiling. And then he stares at my chest. Okay, that's less encouraging ....

"That's an unusual necklace," he says.

_Oh._ Okay, that's better.

"It was my mother's," I tell him.

"It's very beautiful," he says. "When did she give it to you?"

I bite my lip; I never explicitly told him about my mom, but I thought he might figure it out. After all, I've only talked about living with my dad.

"Actually, my dad gave it to me when I was fifteen," I tell him. "My mother passed away when I was eight."

Link's expression crumbles. "I'm so sorry." He shakes his head. "I'm such a total idiot. You already told me you lived with your dad, and you never mentioned your mom. I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not." I pat him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him. The pat is less uncomfortable than I had feared, but still awkward. "I never mentioned it to you. Besides, I've been known to be stupid about things that might seem obvious to other people. Relax."

He sighs. "Well, it's still a very beautiful necklace," he says firmly. "And it's the same color green as your eyes, you know."

I can feel myself turning red. "I actually wouldn't know," I say, frowning. "I haven't ever worn the necklace before; it's been too sad."

"Man, I'm just screwing up all over today," Link laughs. "First, I trample you while I'm trying to find you. Then I bring up a depressing subject thanks to my lack of observational skills. And finally, when given the chance to move on to another subject, I make the same mistake again." But he's smiling, however sadly.

I smile as brightly as I can to try to cheer him a bit. "Look, it's been eleven years. I'm coping with it just fine. I'm actually very happy that I can finally wear it; we don't have many formal events at home."

"Link!" The King is very suddenly approaching us. We stop dancing, and I courtesy, although Link simply nods his head. I don't remember if he bowed the last time the King encountered us at the gala, but I'm surprised he's not doing so now. "Link, I've got to talk to you," the King finishes.

"Uh, right now, sir?" Link asks. I can hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Well, I suppose you should introduce me to your date first!" the King says with a great smile. "She is rather stunning."

What?

"Your Majesty," Link says, exasperated, "this is Dahlia. Again. Remember?"

I courtesy quickly before qualifying Link's re-introduction with, "Epona's handler."

The King squints at me for a moment before rolling his eyes.

"Goddesses, I'm an idiot. Please forgive me, Dahlia. I'd say it's the wine, but there's no excuse. I hope you don't mind if I borrow Link for a moment."

"Uh, go ahead," I reply. I'm unsure of what just happened. Did the King just totally embarrass himself in front of us? And did he ask me for my permission to talk to Link? What is going _on_ tonight?

As I make my way to a divan off to the side of the room, since my feet hurt a little, I feel a tug at my arm. I turn to find myself facing a young, very pretty woman; she looks highly concerned.

"Excuse me, are you Dahlia?" she asks. She must be another one of those girls who's trying to get into Link's pants; I just hope that she doesn't try to pull my hair like the last one did.

"Yes," I respond wearily.

"May I speak with you privately?" She seems very nervous about something.

"Sure." I _really_ hope she doesn't try to pull my hair. I follow her into an antechamber; I'm surprised that it's empty and not full of couples making out.

"How can I help you?" I ask nervously. Please don't pull my hair, please don't pull my hair …

"I know you're very close to Link," the woman says, her voice low. "He trusts you a lot."

"I suppose," I reply. This is unusual conversation; most girls demand to know my pedigree or insist that I must be using illicit love spells to snare Link.

"He hasn't mentioned any details to you about what he does when he leaves for long periods of time, has he?"

…

What?

"No, but why does that matter to you?" I ask. I'm not angry, simply bewildered.

"Excuse me?" she asks, and her eyebrows lower. "I think it's absolutely my business as to whether or not certain information is kept between Link, my father, and myself, thank you very much."

"Oh, _shit_," I exclaim, slapping my hand to my forehead. "Oh, shit, you're Princess Zelda."

"You … didn't know that?" my future ruler asks. Oh my Goddesses, and she's even wearing a tiara! I am officially the biggest idiot to ever walk the face of the earth.

"No, I'm so sorry!" I lower my hand and do my best to look her in the face. "I thought you were another one of his fangirls! They've been cornering me and interrogating me every chance they get."

To my surprise, the Princess laughs. What is _with_ our monarchy? "It's all right," she says, and she pats me on the shoulder. "That explains a lot though!"

"I know, I'm so sorry, Princess," I repeat again; I'm starting to sound even more like the idiot I am.

"Really, it's fine," she says, still smiling. "Anyway, I'm sorry if I've scared you or anything. I just know that Link really trusts you, and I know you both tell each other a lot. I just wanted to make sure he wasn't leaking any information that we've asked him to keep under wraps."

"Not at all," I insist. "In fact, I've asked him to tell me, and he refuses to."

"Well, I'd stop asking him," she mentions. "It probably just upsets him, since he can't tell you."

"Point taken," I agree. "By the way, have you been okay these past few nights? Your father mentioned that there are tons of suitors clamoring for your hand in marriage."

She shrugs. "It's something I'm used to dealing with. I wouldn't worry too much."

"Why don't you and Link get married?" I ask, although I know I will probably get the same answer from her as I did from Link. "Or why don't you at least pretend to be together for functions like this?" She sighs, and I know I should have kept my mouth shut. "Sorry; I shouldn't ask you that after Link's told me 'no' a million times."

"It's okay," she says sadly. "Lying to the press usually backfires." She smiles. "There was a time where my dad and I made up a bunch of suitors so we could lie about my relationship status. Every time there was more and more pressure to present a fake suitor to the public, I'd 'break up' with him and date another fake guy. Eventually, the press caught on, and I had to stop."

"I'm sorry," I say while chuckling. "I guess I shouldn't laugh." I mean, she's not laughing; that means it's not funny, right? Fuck, I don't know how to act around royalty!

"Oh, no," she says politely, laughing lightly. "It's very funny in retrospect. And Link has been pestering me about trying to fake a relationship for a while now, ever since I had to stop making up beaus. I'm glad to hear he's stopped endorsing the idea."

I nod with understanding, but I'm trying to process what she just said. Link actually _wanted_ to fake a relationship with Zelda? Then why has he been telling me to can it every time I suggest it?

"There you are!" Link sticks his head into the antechamber. "Zelda, Max is looking for you, although I should warn you that there are several other, less interesting people looking for you, too." Princess Zelda sighs and rolls her eyes as she exits; she also shoves Link slightly, which just makes him grin like a little, mischievous boy. He then steps into the room and locks the door behind him.

"Trying to cut off my escape route?" I ask playfully, still mulling over my conversation with Zelda. I sit down on an upholstered bench.

Link strides over to sit beside me. "Nah, it's just that Priscilla's trying to kill me or something. She's wearing a lime green puffball that looks like some sort of noxious gas. I figure that if it _looks_ poisonous, it probably is."

"Well, I'm glad that you're safe," I say, looking at my shoes. "How was your talk with the King?"

"Oh, he just needed to get me out of the way so Zelda could talk to you," he says, shrugging. "How was that?"

"It was fine," I say, half-truthfully.

"Then that's good."

Except that there's an awkward silence between us now.

"Is everything okay?" he asks. I'm both relieved and unhappy that he can sense that I'm not all right.

"So, apparently, you _do_ think that it's a good idea to pretend to be Zelda's boyfriend," I say, looking up to face him. "You just don't think it's a good idea when I suggest it."

He looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Zelda says you've pestered her about trying a fake relationship, which means you _do_ think it's a good idea, which means you're an _asshole_ for telling me that it wasn't!"

"I stopped suggesting it when I realized it _wasn't_ a good idea!" he shouts defensively.

"Because it's 'too complicated?'" I ask derisively, standing abruptly and facing him while he sits on the low sofa. "You seemed to change your mind awfully quickly about it, you know. Maybe it's because you think my ideas are stupid or something?"

"Or maybe it's because I don't want to do it any more!" he shouts at me, standing as well.

I don't think I've ever seen Link this angry before. I've seen him annoyed, and I've seen him frustrated. I've certainly encountered him in bad moods. But angry? Enraged? Never.

"Why not?" I ask, incredulously. But then I look away from his face, his contorted features; the tiles of the floor now seem _very_ interesting. I take a deep breath. "No," I say, calmly; I know he was about to speak. "I'm just tired of not knowing things, or not understanding them." I look up at him; he seems to be confused at my change of moods. I'm not, mostly because I'm living them, and so they make sense to me.

"I can't tell you those things," he says, his voice strained.

"Not _those_ things," I say firmly. I realize, though, that maybe we're talking about different things. I hope we're not talking about different things, but I go with my instinct.

My instinct has led me to interesting places, physically and otherwise. It led me to understand that what happened to me, those nights and those years, and I lay in that narrow, childhood bed, were not normal things. My instinct rescued me from drowning in self-blame and hatred; I was lucky that I understood that those things I went through were not of my doing, but of someone else's, and that my silence had not been permission, but self-preservation. And my instinct brought me out of that place, and into this one, where I was a member of a community, where I had friends, where I had found acceptance and happiness, even if I woke every day with the feeling that I was living someone else's life.

And my instincts were now telling me that Link and I were talking about the same thing, and they were telling me ... no, I was telling myself, to listen to him. That this man who had visited me on my night shifts, who had treated me like a friend, who had given me every reason to trust him, would have a reasonable explanation for his inconsistency. And after all, aren't we all a little inconsistent?

"When you tell me it's complicated, those reasons why you and Zelda don't fake a relationship, it's not that I don't believe you," I explain. Well, I used to not, but that's not something he needs to know. "It's that I'm hurt. Hurt that we can be such good friends, but that you don't seem to want to explain to me this one thing. And so I've fixated on this one thing, this anomaly." I sigh. My arms and hands gesture gently, trying to help me explain. "I know it seems ridiculous; after all, what does it really matter, especially to me, if you and Zelda choose to take the honest route and brave the sea of crazy suitors and Priscillas? But I guess what matters is that you won't tell me this thing." I pause. "It's not the same as the other thing. The other thing is national security. That's not the same thing at all." I smile, willing my expression to be "wry," but I have no clue what Link sees from his perspective.

"Then you tell me," he replies quietly. The room feels colder suddenly, and from those small words, and the way he's standing and looking at me, it occurs to me that maybe this is something he's terrified to say to me, a thought or a question that's been circling his brain for a while, and he's finally letting it out.

Am I willing to wait for the thought? I need to; I need to know what he wants to trade for; what idea do I need to address to have my own question answered?

I wait, barely breathing. He shifts his weight, as if he was about to take a step closer but has thought better of it.

"Tell me," he says again, "tell me why you flinch almost every time I touch you?"

The blood flowing through my veins seems to have frozen. How could I have fooled myself into seriously believing that he hadn't noticed? For months, I had played my flinches off as other, miniscule actions. But how could I have expected him to buy into that charade?

"I try to hug you, and you make an excuse," he continues. "I touch your arm, and you react as if I've burned you. And with the exception of a few minutes last night, you've spent the entire gala as stiff as a statue. Maybe it's complicated, but like you said, we're close." His words burn my ears, deep into the canals; my brain hisses in pain from having my own argument thrown back at me.

He asks of me the one thing I cannot tell him.

"That's not fair." My voice is barely a whisper, shocking me with its weakness. I feel as if I've been hit in the stomach. Or the ovaries; ouch, yes, those. "That's different." The once interesting tiles on the floor become a swirling mass, reaching towards me. "That's not fair." The repeated argument seems to fall to the floor between us, limp.

I want to run. I _desperately_ want to run, but I can't seem to actually move my legs. I try to access that small place in the back of my mind where I imagine my will power resides, and I employ it to _move my legs_. And they don't move.

The floor is still whirling around my feet, which I know exist somewhere beneath my sparkling skirt. And my dress sparkles and twinkles at me until I feel blind, or maybe it's just the tears in my eyes magnifying the light.

No, I tell myself. This doesn't have to happen. I don't have to tell him ... but I don't have to stand here. I can leave. I can collect myself. I can wind down. And that autonomy takes over and my vision clears; I'm just in an ordinary room with an ordinary floor, in a sparkly but ordinary dress.

"Good night," I say quietly, not looking into Link's face; I turn around and walk out of the small room. My feet softly carry me back to the stables and my small bed and my comfortable pajamas. By the time I change out of my ill-fitting finery, pull on my pajamas, and slip into bed and into unconsciousness, the clock quietly chimes nine o'clock.

* * *

I mean, come on, it's not a fair trade! Right? I'm going to try to finish this story by the new year, since I really just need to get it finished, and because I seem to have a habit of ending stories on New Year's Eve. So why not keep it up?

If you like this story, or any of my other stories, please review, even if you don't have much to say (if you DO have much to say, even better). If you like the story, and you think other people should read it, a higher number of reviews tends to attract more readers. I'm aware that I'm review whoring, and I totally feel no shame. Review whoring is just one way to get more readers, and I'm not willing to use some of the other methods (namely fluff). I also read and respond to every review (as long as you've logged in or you've left an email address), so your reviews do not go unread and unappreciated.


	11. In which no one spontaneously makes out

My head is throbbing, as if there's a small hammer hitting the sides of my skull. The beat is regular, and as the hammer strikes each side of my head, there's a small "ding" noise. After a very short while, the "ding" noise ceases, but the throbbing remains. And then someone is shaking me.

"What?" I ask, opening my eyes. My fuzzy vision focuses after a moment onto Garret's concerned face.

"Dahlia, it's the bell," he says, obviously worried. "Are you okay?" My attention is drawn back to him. "You came back last night before our shift was even over."

"I'm fine," I say. My voice doesn't sound particularly fine; it sounds like the guys sound when they're hung over.

"Maybe you should take the day off," he suggests. "I can go tell Donald." There's shuffling at the door; I see the shadows I know to be Thomas, Richard, and Derrick treading into the room, getting ready to nap before they're back on the afternoon schedule. Meanwhile, Victor is getting dressed; Garret is still in his pajamas. Everything's been so off since the gala.

The gala.

"No, I'm fine," I lie, as my headache worsens. I lean forward and swing my legs out of bed. "I just wasn't feeling well last night, that's all. I just needed to get a long night of sleep."

"Are you sure?" Victor is coming over now, half dressed, to see what's going on.

"Dahlia, are you okay?" he asks, before pulling on his tunic. "You never sleep through the bell."

"I'm _fine_," I repeat, trying my best not to sound as annoyed as I feel. "Look, I was just really overtired last night. I feel fine now, and would like to get dressed and eat breakfast."

Breakfast isn't pleasant either, though. Victor and Garret are staring at me, every second, as if I'll suddenly burst into flame or sprout wings or horns. As if something will happen if they take their eyes off me for a second. I shift uncomfortably under their unceasing gaze. Breakfast is tastes bland and squishy this morning. Why won't the stop looking at me? If I tell them, for the millionth time, that I'm okay, they'll just count that as evidence that I'm not.

Am I? Obviously I'm not fine, but what the fuck can I do about it? And staring at me while I eat? Not a great way to help me become fine again.

Working feels better, even as the headache prickles behind my eyeballs. I feel out of practice, even though it's only been a few nights since my regular chores. And while there are still plenty of horses that need to be sent off, there aren't many, and since I've always been better with horses than with people, I silently thank Victor and Garret every time they take care of a departing horse. See, guys, _that's_ how you can help me once again be okay. Just let me do my job.

It's still hard to shake, though, and as I think that, I drop the brush I'm holding. Into a bucket of dirty water. Oh, for _fuck's_ sake! I kick the bucket in frustration, forgetting, of course, that it's filled with dirty water, and that _that's_ the reason I'm pissed in the first place.

"Dahlia?" It's Derrick; it's already two o'clock in the afternoon, and Derrick, Thomas, and Richard are up again, getting back on a regular schedule. Donald, at least, has offered to take the night shift for us tonight, even though he's as off-schedule and cranky as the rest of us. Maybe next time, everyone can just _walk_ to the castle or something, to save us the trouble. "Dahlia, what was that?" His voice carries the same tone as Garret's and Victor's have today: the "What's wrong?" tone. I dislike this tone.

"Oh, nothing," I say, pretending to be nonchalant. "I tripped over a bucket; I must still just be overtired!" Yeah, no, even _I_ don't believe what I'm saying. Please, just respect me enough not to ask.

He doesn't ask. I've already turned the bucket upright; I did it as soon as I'd realized what I'd done, but it was too late from the beginning, and the once-fluffy hay in this corner of the stall is damp already. I sigh as quietly as possible before running to get a cart to move out this wet hay and replace it. Again.

"Everything okay there, Dahlia?" Shit! Now Donald is questioning me! "I heard you got back really early last night and slept till the bell." Shit, shit, shit, shit.

I try to make my face look as if I'm not thinking "Shit, shit, shit, shit" in my mind. "I just was overtired, that's all," I say, smiling. Not too wide, he'll suspect! I lessen it a bit. He seems to buy it.

"All right, glad you got some rest," he replies gruffly before moving into his office. I sigh heavily, maybe too heavily, as I get a cart to bring back to the stall.

What was there for Donald to be suspicious of? Suspicious that I was perhaps sick, not just overtired? Suspicious. Of. What?

Of nothing. Right? Right.

Epona doesn't ask about the gala, to my intense relief. She reads me just as well as I read her, although she tends to understand me better if I talk as well (I also understand her better when she's more vocal). And so she can tell that it didn't go well last night, and that I don't want to talk about it. Awesome.

My night shift is the next night; Donald was not pleased that I took my night off during the gala, and in return, I had to agree to take the first night shift. Unfortunately, since there's not much work to get done (is there ever? Maybe we need to rethink the entire point of the night shift), and I'm all alone, I can't stop thinking about all that's happened. Epona lets me pace around her tiny stall as I think things through.

So, I want to know why Link flip-flopped on the fake-relationship-with-Zelda plan. Of course, it's stupid that I want to know this badly; I've been so stubborn on this point now that I can't just say, "Okay, never mind." After all, if it weren't such a big deal why, Link would have told me already. So it's got to be at least a mildly interesting reason.

And he wants to know ... everything. I kick over a bucket that's mercifully empty (I would have kicked it anyway, but I'm still glad it's empty).

Chill, Epona says.

"I can't," I admit. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."

Well, what are your options? she asks. I ignore the absurdity of getting psychological help from a horse. You name all your options and pick whichever one you want, she continues.

"I can't tell him without telling him everything," I concede. "And I can't tell him everything."

What do you mean? she asks, nibbling on my shirt as I pause my pacing briefly.

"I mean, how can I answer him without telling him who I am? Or what's happened to me?" I shake my head and keep pacing. "I don't think I can do that. I haven't told anyone that."

You told me.

"You don't count," I say sadly. "You're a horse. And as much as I love and trust you, it's different."

Well, you love and trust him, right? she ventures.

"I--" I begin, but then I stop.

Well played, horse. Well played.

"Well, fuck," I reply. That sneaked up on me. She's right, but what the hell? How did I not realize this? As I gently lean on Epona's shoulder, I sigh heavily. I must be the only person in the world who hasn't realized that I'm in love with Link. Fucking in love with him! How the hell did this even happen, and why am I only figuring it out when a horse tells me?

But of course I love him. Otherwise, I wouldn't be obsessing over how to tell him about what I've been through. Otherwise, I might not have been so anxious about going to the gala. Otherwise, I would be doing whatever I could to avoid physical contact; instead, I'm trying to figure out how to cope with the discomfort so that we can touch. And it's been getting better and easier, hasn't it? Slowly, sure, but it's getting easier.

What _are_ my options? Like I told Epona, I can't pick and choose what to tell him. If I tell him why I'm so uncomfortable with physical contact, I have to tell him I was abused and that I lied about who I am. It all has to come out. Telling him how I feel about him might be easy compared to the rest, but what if he's not in love with me? Or what if he's interested in me because he doesn't realize how ... how broken I am?

So I can either tell him everything or nothing. If I tell him nothing, then what will happen? I don't think things will go back to normal; how could they? I know they can't; I'd be lying to myself if I thought there wouldn't be any ridiculous awkwardness. Even if we tried to forget, we wouldn't be able to; things have already been spoken that'll get in the way.

If that's the case, what would happen? We'd probably have trouble just sitting and talking, without being able to talk about ... this. So we probably would stop talking. It would probably mean the end of our friendship.

What if I do tell him? Worst case scenario would be that he would be angry, that he might tell Donald that I lied, that I might get fired. In that case, I would just ... find somewhere else. I don't have to go back to the ranch, after all. I don't think I've broken any laws, so I doubt I'd face legal action. So, worst case scenario is that I'd be fired. I could cope with that. Would it suck just to have Link reject me? Well ... _yes_. Crap. Crappity crap _crap_.

Well, if there were an easy way out, then this wouldn't be a sucky situation.

The next day, when I head out to the stable after lunch, Epona is missing from my clipboard and her stall. But at least the pressure I've felt has lessened a bit; I can't stress over confronting Link if he's not here, obviously. I throw myself into work as much as I can to distract myself. I know that Donald and the guys know something's up, but mercifully, they don't say anything.

Until a few weeks later. "Dahlia," Richard says, catching my arm as I'm heading to dinner. I try to ignore the fact that he's touching me.

"Uh, what?" I ask, shaking his hand off.

"It's Garret's birthday tomorrow night," he tells me. "Donald's taking the night shift and we're all going to go out for drinks."

"Richard," I say, beginning my refusal, but he interrupts.

"No, you can't say no," he tells me. "We're family, you know? I know you're not into the whole bar scene, but it's his birthday and he really wants to all go out. Please?"

"I don't have anything to wear," I admit. It's a legitimate excuse, too; all I have to wear are my work dresses (which have been crumpled at the bottom of a drawer since my first day), livery (which we're not allowed to wear if we're not working), pajamas, and three ball gowns. My only footwear are work boots. Sure, I can just imagine going out to a bar in a ball gown and work boots. Yes.

"Well," Richard says slowly, and I can see that he's trying to think of a way to negate my excellent excuse. "Well, you're off tonight, right? You could always just go and shop after dinner."

"Richard, I really don't think so," I reply, my voice low.

"Oh, _please_, Dahlia, for the love of Nayru!" Victor is sticking his head out of the door to our dining room. "And don't say you don't have any money because we all know you never spend your wages."

It's a bit embarrassing walking down to the city in an old, ill-fitting work dress and dirty boots. It's even more embarrassing to walk into the shop that the guys recommended, since it's clear that the owner and her assistant have never in their lives seen a person so poorly dressed. I even showered before I left the stable, but my damp hair probably just makes me look worse.

But I supposed it could have gone worse. Victor was right; I never had any reason to spend my wages, so I've amassed a small fortune. Buying a few fashionable outfits and some nice, non-work shoes has barely made a dent in my finances. The owner lets me wear new clothes out of the shop, but she has her assistant direct me to another place across the street.

And before I know it, my hair is short. Well, not boy-short, but before being pushed into what I soon realized was a salon, my hair hung to my lower back. Now it sits between my shoulder blades, and it feels much lighter. By the time I'm out of the salon and back on the track to the castle, my hair is dry.

Maybe going out tonight was a good idea. I feel much more comfortable in clothes that actually fit me (but that aren't constricting like a gown), in clean shoes, and in shorter hair. Maybe I'll even have fun tomorrow night.

"Excuse me, miss, but do you need a ride?" I turn and look up to find Link riding Epona beside me. "Oh, shit!" he exclaims, his face looking slightly shocked. I guess he didn't know it was me.

Surpriiiiiise, says Epona.

"I didn't recognize you," Link says quietly. "Your hair is different."

"I just got it cut," I reply. Oh my Din, it's awkward. So awkward! I stare straight ahead as we slowly make our way to the castle.

I hear him dismount, and soon, he's walking beside me, leading Epona. Wow, maybe the silence will just swallow us whole and we won't have to deal with this mess.

Or maybe we need to talk, break the silence, set everything in motion. After all, everything was already in motion; it's just paused right now, unnaturally.

"I, uh," he begins. "I mean, I like it. You look really nice."

"Thanks," I answer. The guards we pass nod respectfully at us; I distantly recall that Link's sort of their boss.

The clock is striking nine as we arrive at the stable; Thomas eyes us warily as he takes Epona to her stall. Link shoulders the pack he removed from the saddle and stares at me sadly. "I should, uh, put this away," I tell him, lifting up my shopping bags as evidence. He nods, but when I finish throwing the bags on my bed, he's standing in the hallway, waiting for me. "We can't talk here," I whisper, trying to be quiet enough not to wake up my sleeping coworkers. We obviously won't have privacy in the stable, so he gestures me to follow him.

His apartment isn't that far from the stable; I assume that he needs to be close to Epona if he has any sort of emergency errands. It's also not that far from the hospital wing, probably also for job-related reasons. But it's clear that the apartments in this area of the castle are super-nice, just by examining the carpeting and paintings and console tables and candles that don't sputter. Link unlocks one of the doors off of the hallway, and in we go.

We step into a narrow hallway that has a few doors off of it, as well as a coat rack and a mat that looks as if we're supposed to leave our boots on it (we don't); Link locks the door behind us and lights some of the candles in their sconces. To the left, an open door reveals what should have been a study; the desk has some maps on it, but the entire rest of the room is full of random pieces of weaponry and equipment. A small couch is stained with oil and dirt, visible underneath what appears to be a pile of swords. An open door on the left is the entrance to a moderately sized dining area, which looks as if it's been cleaned recently, in contrast to the study. The door at the end of the hallway is closed, but that's where we're headed.

The room at the end is pretty large, at least by my standards. I look around as Link lights a few lamps and tosses his bag down beside a chair. Here seems to be the real study, off to one corner, with books and maps and scrolls piled haphazardly around several desks, tables, and chairs, and bookshelves filled with titles that I can't make out from the door. Situated away from the mess is a living area, with some couches and chairs and end tables. One small open door has bathroom fixtures visible from within, and another has clothing bursting out of it. There's a glass door that appears to lead to a small balcony. And opposite the mess of books and the nice sitting area is a rather massive bed. Link sees me eying it. "Half the time, I sleep on the couch," he tells me, and he sits on one of the couches as if to prove his point. I then realize I'm meant to sit down as well. I strategically pick a chair next to the couch; I don't want to sit on the couch with him, but I don't want him to feel as if I'm intentionally sitting as far away as possible. It's pretty comfortable, and if it weren't for the tense conversation I'm anticipating, I could probably fall asleep in it. After all, it's well past my bedtime.

"This is a nice apartment," I tell him, unintentionally eying the massive bed again. Geez, five people could sleep in that and toss and turn all night, and not disturb anyone! Okay, slight exaggeration, but it's pretty massive.

"It is," he admits.

And then more silence.

All right, fuck it. Someone's going to have to break the silence, and we both know it's going to be me. Huzzah.

"My name's not really Dahlia," I blurt out. I've suddenly become very interested in my hands. "My name's Malon, and I'm the daughter of Talon, who owns the ranch. I'm the one who raised Epona."

Phew. Let's see how angry or incredulous he becomes.

"Yeah, I know," he replies.

The fuck?

"You _know_," I repeat, stupidly. I look up at him, and he looks slightly sheepish. "You _know?"_ He knew, and yet I had to obsess over this for weeks? What the _hell?!_

"Well, yeah," he answers defensively. "A couple months ago, I had to stop by the ranch because Epona and I were too worn out to get back to the castle. I knew we'd acquired Epona from the ranch, and I was complimenting Talon and thanking him. He got really sad and told me about how his daughter Malon had raised Epona, but she'd run away and he couldn't bear to keep her horse. He was just glad he'd sold her so quickly. He also described you and asked me to look for you. It's not the world's best kept secret," he points out.

"Donald doesn't know," I retort, remembering the information I'd found over the summer.

"Yeah, he does," Link replies. "I told him."

"Why?!" I practically shout. "You knew this secret, but you didn't say anything to me, but you _did_ feel the need to tell my _boss?"_

"I didn't tell the King or anything!" he points out. He puts his hands up defensively. "Look, it was an accident. I bumped into Donald one evening at a dinner the King was having for most of the senior staff, and he was asking me how things were going with Epona, stuff like that. When he expressed confusion about the fact that you seemed to have some sort of history with Epona, I kind of accidentally let it spill, okay?" I stare at the coffee table in front of me, trying not to believe what I'm hearing.

"Look, he's not angry or anything. We both figured that you were lying for a reason, but he doesn't actually _care_. You're great at your job, you fit in with the other stable hands, so who cares what your real name is? Besides, he figures you just wanted to be hired and accepted based on your own merits, not because of who your father is."

"Do you care?" I ask, my rage and incredulity somewhat subsiding.

"Well, no, I guess," he sighs. "I mean, I've wanted to know why you lied, and at first I was hurt that you hadn't come clean. But I figured that you'd tell me when you were ready, and that you were still _you_, whatever your name was. So, no," he finishes. "I'm not angry."

More awkward silence. I know what he's thinking. He's wondering what my true identity has to do with The Problem, as I've now started thinking of it. How do I approach this subject?

"So you went to the ranch," I say, still more interested in the whirls of the wooden coffee table than my companion's face.

"Yeah," he replies. The tone of his voice suggests that he just wants me to spill the information.

"Did you meet Ingo?" I ask. "Skinny, big mustache?"

To my surprise Link snickers. "Yeah, I met that creep."

"Oh, you didn't like him?" I ask lightly, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

"What's to like?" Link asks; in my peripheral vision, I see him shrugging and leaning back into the couch. "He was rude and unfriendly, and he really just seemed like a child moles--"

Ah, there we go. And to think, I didn't actually have to tell him outright. Interesting.

I look up, since he hasn't continued talking. He's staring at me, but I know he's still stuck on that last thought, one that he's realizing he can't unthink. After a moment, his eyes focus on my face, and his face drains of any color.

"For how long?" he asks, practically choking on the words. I wonder if he maybe hopes that he's wrong, that I'll say, "Oh, no, it's just a vibe, that's not what I was going to tell you." Time to burst that bubble.

"Six years," I answer quietly, and he sinks back into the couch like a man defeated. "I think I finally realized that he wasn't going to stop, and I couldn't take it anymore. I lied about who I was because I didn't want him following me. I knew if my dad even knew where I'd gone, Ingo could find me."

"Your dad," he says stupidly. "How the fuck could your dad have not known?"

"I don't know," I say truthfully. "Maybe he knew, or maybe he didn't. Or maybe he didn't even want to think about it; I know it's hard for even me to think about sometimes."

"But you know, it's not your fault," he says quickly. "This man, he's a criminal. We need to have him arrested."

"No!" I practically shout, to Link's (and my own) surprise. "No, I don't want to even deal with him again. And I know it's not my fault. It took a few years for me to realize it, but I've known it for some time. I know it wasn't okay, and that it was his fault." My hands are shaking. "No, I can't see anything good of having him arrested. I don't ever even want to see him again," I add, trying not to imagine a confrontation.

"Malon," Link says, and I realize it's the first time he's ever called me by my real name, my real identity. Somewhere along the road, I lost Dahlia and slipped back into my old shoes. Or maybe I was never a different person in the first place. But it's too much, and I put my head in my hands. "Malon," he continues, "I know you might not want to confront him, but what if he's done this to someone else? What if he does this in the future?"

Thoughts swirl in my head, and they form themselves into Ingo's information sheet I found over the summer. He harassed a visiting noblewoman. He assaulted my mother. I was just another girl, another woman he had done this to. And I know Link is right: given the opportunity, Ingo would do this again. And I can't stand the thought that he might hurt someone else, someone who might not even realize that she's not to blame. Another girl or woman unable to even touch the one she loves without fear.

"I can't see him," I say softly. I don't want to cry.

"You won't," he insists. "Look, I've got enough clout here that if I accuse him of this crime, he doesn't stand a chance."

"But then everyone will know!" Oh, there it is. My breaking point. My secret exposed to the whole kingdom: I'm broken. I'm not crying, exactly, but something like it.

"They won't!" he insists, but before I can retort that he has no idea if he can prevent that information from leaking, he's at my side, hugging me (no mean feat, considering that I'm sitting in an arm chair).

Both feelings are present. The warmth, the love, the feeling of home. The burn, the pain, the terror. I want to push him away, but I don't want to, and I have no idea if I'd even be capable of it. But soon, I don't even have to keep freaking out over what to do because he's backed away, his arms fallen to his sides. I look up at him stupidly, my mouth half open.

"I--I shouldn't do that, should I?" he asks, and I realize that he's fighting back tears. Aw. But I should focus on what he's saying. "That's why you don't like being touched." He's not asking; he understands now.

"It was getting easier," I admit, wiping my face; I was wrong about not exactly crying. "It stopped hurting as much, and it doesn't shock me like it used to." I laugh sadly. "That second night of the gala, it was gone for a bit. It was probably the best moment of my life."

"But I've been hurting you this whole time," he says angrily. "I've been hurting you. I _knew _you didn't like being touched, but instead of giving you the benefit of the doubt and leaving you alone, I _selfishly_ ignored the signs."

"Look, you didn't _know,_ okay?" I tell him, and my eyes are hot again. "You didn't know because I didn't tell you. And now that you know, you'll never touch me again and you'll treat me like some mental case." Ah, no, see _there's_ my worst case scenario.

"You're not a mental case," he replies, sitting back on the couch, but as close to me as possible. "You're just ...."

"Broken," I suggest, but he shakes his head.

"You're just still healing," he says firmly. "And I don't want to get in the way of it. I--is there anything in particular you think I could do to help?"

"You _were_ helping," I insist. "Like I said, it's been getting easier ever since I met you. And I don't _want_ you to walk on eggshells around me."

"That sounds a bit masochistic," he points out, but he's smiling faintly. But now he's staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face, and I feel very small.

"I'm in love with you," he tells me softly. "I stopped thinking it was a good idea to fake a relationship with Zelda because I wanted to pursue an _actual_ relationship with you. But you kept insisting that your idea was a good one, and with that and ... the other thing, I was convinced that you didn't feel the same way." He sighs. "I can run into a burning building filled with deadly monsters without even second-guessing myself, but as soon as it comes to admitting that I'm in love with you, I chicken out and insist that you tell me something intensely private first.

"And thanks to my cowardice, I ruined the gala for both of us, when I was convinced it was going to be some magical, romantic time where we would spontaneously start making out and I wouldn't have to worry so much about whether or not you reciprocated my feelings."

As for me, I'm in slight shock: he's in _love_ with me? That ... well, that explains a lot, and it's more like best case scenario now. You know, what with me being in love with him, too.

"Well, is it possible for me to still reciprocate your feelings even if we don't spontaneously start making out?" I ask quietly.

He smiles widely before I suddenly realize something. "Um, wait. Burning building filled with monsters?"

"Oh, _shit!"_ He slaps a hand over his mouth.

Somehow, I have a feeling I'm going to hear more about his real job before I turn eighty.

* * *

I noticed, when I uploaded this chapter, that ever since I switched to Mac, my uploads haven't had any italics. So I went through this chapter and the previous two and added in all of the italics. I doubt you'd need to reread the chapters, but now they're much better. Italics make everything better.


	12. Epilogue: In which we look to the future

I brush my hair, still amazed at how quickly it dries. It's been three years, but I've never let it grow back to the length I used to wear it at. Link hasn't been too disappointed, but it's not like it matters; it's just hair, and it's _my_ hair, not his.

Besides, the night I cut my hair was the night everything changed. As superstitious as it seems, I sometimes think that if I let it grow out again, everything will go back to before. But that's not the only reason I keep it short, obviously; I prefer it short, and it dries so quickly.

But so much else has changed now.

Ingo was arrested. Apparently, my father didn't even ask what the charges were; at least, that's what Link told me. I wasn't there. I didn't see Ingo, and the charges were kept private for my sake. But it was enough to confirm what I had suspected since that first summer in the stable: my father had to have at least suspected. I haven't seen him since I left, and I'm not sure I want to see him. Who knows if I ever will? Link went by there recently on his way back to the castle; apparently my father has hired some new stable hands for the ranch, and he's in the process of declaring one of them his heir.

Last year, Link finally got permission from the King to tell me all about his real job. I was the one who insisted he get permission; he'd already told me everything anyway, but it was getting harder and harder for me to pretend I was out of the loop. Of course I wasn't out of the loop; I started figuring things out quickly enough as it was. It doesn't seem like much of a secret. Link is basically a professional hero, and that's sort of how everyone treats him anyway. The things, I suppose, that need to be kept secret involve missions where he needs the element of surprise, or when other people might rush to get a magic artifact before he does, or when he was involved in something questionable in terms of international relations. But I've worked hard to prove that I'm trustworthy; I've told no one what I know, and as far as the guys know, I'm not even in on the secrets.

My position in the castle has morphed somewhat. Donald retired soon after I revealed my identity; he'd been working at the stables for over thirty years, after all, and was ready for some rest. I was, surprisingly, made head of the stables (I'd worked there barely a year and I was nineteen!), and I was immediately bombarded with applicants looking for jobs as stable hands. Word had gotten around that the handsome, charming, unattainable Captain of the Guard had swept some poor, unknown stable hand off of her feet; I did my best to dispel those rumors (there was no feet-sweeping, after all, and the rumor made me seem a lot less assertive than I actually was). According to Richard, only about half of the female applicants were after my pseudo-Cinderella story; the other half had never known that women could work in the stables, and were simply taking advantage of their new knowledge.

And so I hired several of these women, as well as a few of the men who applied, had a second bedroom and bathroom built, had livery made for women's shapes and sizes, and redid the schedules. Richard, Thomas, Victor, Derrick, and Garret still have authority positions, and take care of most of the in-stable business; they were the ones who decided to eliminate the night shift. Now, if someone shows up at night (so far, in three years, it's only ever Link), they ring a bell themselves, and whoever's on call that evening, and sleeping in the on call room we had built, will go take care of it.

Of course, Link's not that much of a lazy idiot when it comes to horses, so unless he or Epona is injured, he just puts her away himself. The guys and I are in talks to just eliminate the on call night shift at this point. If someone else _does_ show up, then they can alert one of the guards or something. I mean, _they_ still have night shifts.

I'm mostly in charge of hiring (and firing), payroll, purchasing and selling horses, filing paperwork, and delegating various tasks. For example, I've put Richard in charge of training younger horses when necessary (after I taught him how, obviously). Garret is now Epona's handler, although the transition could have been easier. Needless to say, she threw a tantrum. Link managed to convince her, though; apparently he learned how to communicate with her after taking my advice to talk to her like a person. It makes me feel less crazy.

Since I have so much less stable-related work, I've been studying a lot, mostly politics and international relations. I feel so useless, even now, whenever Link and I have dinner with the Royal family. I resolved some time ago to learn as much as I could about history and politics and foreign countries, and I've recently been surprising even the King with some of my knowledge and ideas. I also learn this information in case something goes wrong with Link's hero work and we piss off a foreign power. It's not a bad idea to learn some diplomacy.

As for Link and me, we've come a long way since our first night together, admitting our feelings. I'd ended up staying the night by accident; similar accidents occurred up until Donald retired. After that, I was able to just move in with Link and save myself the walk of shame every night.

Emotional intimacy was much easier than physical intimacy, but the latter followed the former relatively quickly. Once I was able to talk to Link about anything, including the abuse and my fears, once I was able to really trust him, and once he made clear his trust in me, everything got easier. Kissing was the easiest part, since our kissing was fueled by passion and romance and mutual attraction; none of those things has existed for me before, and it was easy to think of it as something different than the abuse. Farther than that got difficult, but we took it slowly, and we stopped when I needed to stop (or when he did). We still stop sometimes, mostly for me. But it's okay. And it's less frequent these days.

Ten years ago, I was just a child, wondering what the hell was happening to me. Four years ago, I tried to escape by taking up a new life. And three years ago, I stopped running from my past and took it back. Or something like that. Either way, I try to look forward to the future.

For example, tonight is the start of another three-night gala. I'm wearing a new gown for the occasion, one that doesn't clash with my hair or make me look like an eel. And now that my hair is dry, I slip the dress on and then pull on my shoes. Link calls out from the living room, "Oh, I hear Priscilla's going to be here tonight."

I roll my eyes as I pin up my hair. "Maybe we shouldn't go," I suggest. "I'm pretty tired; I don't think I can protect you tonight."

He laughs and walks into the bathroom behind me. He's already in his suit, and he's fastening the cuff links I gave him for his last birthday. "You've become pretty popular, too, you know," he points out, putting his hands on my waist. I shiver, but it's a good shiver, something I never thought I'd experience on a regular basis. "Remember last time? I barely got to have a single dance with you."

"Well, we'll have to keep that from happening again this time," I reply, firmly patting my hair to make sure it'll stay. "I'm not sure I like being popular."

And now that we're both ready, we head out of the apartment and down towards the ballroom.

* * *

And that's really it. And now it's over; I've got no more fan fiction ideas, so I guess this is the end of a very long era. Have a safe and happy new year and new decade!


End file.
